Posts Tagged ‘#NaNoWriMo’

#5MinuteFiction Week 77 #NaNoWriMo Edition WINNER!

November 16, 2011

No surprise that once again our winner is Jen DeSantis, @JenD_Author. ;) She’s an amazing writer, so no wonder. I hope you’re all enjoying the NaNoWriMo editions as much as she is, and getting something out of it for your WIPs as well.

Congrats again, Jen, and see you all next week!

Here’s her entry again for you to enjoy:

“Open it,” Zatiel said, leaning casually against a charred tree.

Leteh eyed him warily. He felt certain that the minute he looked away from him, Zatiel would take the opportunity to fry him. The younger demon with fiery, possessed eyes just shook his head.

“I called a pause in the action,” he said, “and I’m a demon of my word.”

Leteh couldn’t stop himself from snorting. “Yeah … and I’m not wanted dead by everyone and their brother. What are you playing at, Zatiel?”

“Open the fucking box and see, will you?”

With a shake of his head, Leteh pulled at the crude strings surrounding the box. Lifting the lid, Leteh saw a litter of debris in the box. It was most definitely harmless, at least superficially. The effect that the contents had on Leteh however, was both immediate and powerful.

Inside the plain brown box was a charred branch of a tree and three black raven’s feathers burned nearly to their quills.

“You see what this means, don’t you?” Zatiel asked, smiling smarmily at Leteh as he walked closer to the older demon. “You, better than anyone, can see the significance of these feathers. She’s gone, Leteh. And with her death, your reason for fighting dies as well.”

Zatiel, good to his word, dissolved into the underworld, leaving Leteh alone with the innocuous box. Perhaps Zatiel was telling the truth and Selena had been killed. But he was wrong, nonetheless. Leteh’s resolve was even stronger than before. He crushed the box in his hands, feathers fluttering to the ground in his wake as he strode back to camp.

#5MinuteFiction Week 77 #NaNoWriMo Edition FINALISTS!

November 15, 2011

I love these NaNoWriMo editions. I’m not exactly Wri’ing this month, I’ve got a project that desperately needs to go through revisions before I can start the sequel. So I’m NaNoRevMo’ing. But, still, revisions can involve quite a bit of new writing, and solidifying characters and sequence of events. So these prompts are helping me with that, and I love it!

So who did our guest judge, Tracey M. Hansen, @THansenWrites, pick as this week’s finalists?

DeJean Smith, @dejeansmith

AmyBeth Inverness, @US_Nessie

Jen DeSantis, @JenD_Author

Alana Garrigues, @alanagarrigues

D. Ryan Leask, @DRyanLeask

Congrats all! Their entries are below along with a poll for you to vote in and decide this week’s WINNER! Be back tomorrow morning at 9:00 Eastern to find out who wins!

DeJean Smith, @dejeansmith

She poked and prodded at the small, perfectly wrapped present that appeared on her desk.

“You’re going to have to open it some time,” a voice from her PA floated in. “He’s going to ask if you got it and I’m not going to lie for you. Not this time, Sweets.”

“You’re a true friend!” she called sarcastically, earning a laugh from her fabulous assistant.

And she did mean fabulous. Rhinestone encrusted cats eye glasses fabulous.

“What is it for?” she called.

“Secret Santa shit or something,” came the reply. “Management gets all sorts of warm and fuzzy when the weather drops.”

“And a gift card to Barnes and Noble would be out of the question?” She looked at the package as if the ribbon might suddenly turn into a cobra and strike.

To be honest, she really hated presents of any sort. Gifts made her uncomfortable. Birthdays made her nauseous and don’t even think about what Christmas did to her.

That was a therapy session unto itself.

“Just open it for godssake,” he nipped, appearing lazily at the door.

With a hesitant hand, she took the package and carefully popped open the sides.

“You know, it will be Valentines before you’re done at that rate,” he muttered.

With her tongue stuck out oh-so-maturely, she ripped into the paper, tossing it into her trashcan next to her desk.

“So what is it?”

“Nothing.” She held up the empty box for him to see. “Fucker didn’t put anything in it. Just a card that reads, ‘What you deserve.’”

“Fucker.”

AmyBeth Inverness, @US_Nessie

Peter looked at the box suspiciously.
It was from Stark, or, as she was better known, Stark Raving Mad.
The fact that they were engaged to be married did not make it any less suspicious.
It wasn’t so much that Stark was dangerous, or evil…
Well, she could be evil.
She simply loved to mess with people’s minds.
Psychiatrists weren’t supposed to do that.
Apparently Stark was either unaware or indifferent to the rule.
Deciding it was best to get things over with, Peter dove in, carefully laying aside tissue paper to see what was inside.

Pomegranites.

Peter smiled.
Evil indeed.

Jen DeSantis, @JenD_Author

“Open it,” Zatiel said, leaning casually against a charred tree.

Leteh eyed him warily. He felt certain that the minute he looked away from him, Zatiel would take the opportunity to fry him. The younger demon with fiery, possessed eyes just shook his head.

“I called a pause in the action,” he said, “and I’m a demon of my word.”

Leteh couldn’t stop himself from snorting. “Yeah … and I’m not wanted dead by everyone and their brother. What are you playing at, Zatiel?”

“Open the fucking box and see, will you?”

With a shake of his head, Leteh pulled at the crude strings surrounding the box. Lifting the lid, Leteh saw a litter of debris in the box. It was most definitely harmless, at least superficially. The effect that the contents had on Leteh however, was both immediate and powerful.

Inside the plain brown box was a charred branch of a tree and three black raven’s feathers burned nearly to their quills.

“You see what this means, don’t you?” Zatiel asked, smiling smarmily at Leteh as he walked closer to the older demon. “You, better than anyone, can see the significance of these feathers. She’s gone, Leteh. And with her death, your reason for fighting dies as well.”

Zatiel, good to his word, dissolved into the underworld, leaving Leteh alone with the innocuous box. Perhaps Zatiel was telling the truth and Selena had been killed. But he was wrong, nonetheless. Leteh’s resolve was even stronger than before. He crushed the box in his hands, feathers fluttering to the ground in his wake as he strode back to camp.

Alana Garrigues, @alanagarrigues

The day the box arrived in the mail, Cynthia had been reflecting on what a lovely day it had been – lunch with the ladies, a really great sweaty workout a the gym, sunny skies, a lovely new jacket bought on sale at the cute boutique down the road, and a full five years since she had any word from that patronizing bastard of an ex-husband. On the last day of their divorce trial, they’d parted ways without eye contact and with an agreement that money would be wired directly to her account each month, on time, without any additional contact.

When she pulled into the driveway, Cynthia noticed the box on the front stoop.

1-800-FLOWERS. How nice! Someone was thinking of her.

She got out of the car, gathered her mail, picked up the box and entered the house. There she opened the box and saw the note.

To Cynthia. I’m sorry. Love Always, Tad

Tad. Her ex. Flowers. Damn him.

Cynthia made her way to the liquor cabinet, mixed them all together and thus began her descent into one drunken month of anger and confusion.

D. Ryan Leask, @DRyanLeask

“What is this?” She asked, always dubious of her so-called friend Ted. All he ever really wanted was to get in her pants.
“Open it, I just thought it was something you’d like.” He replied.
“I don’t trust you. The last thing you gave me was a vibrator.” She set the neatly wrapped box on her desk.
“Did you use it?” He asked.
“That’s not the point, it was not the kind of gift a friend gives another friend.” She replied.
“I had just thought you needed to release a bit of tension.” He smiled, “now open it.”
“No Ted, you thought that I would use it and think of you every time I did and would eventually…” She sighed.
“No, not at all, come on Nina, I was just looking out for you, you needed a little fornication in your life.” Ted looked at the box, then at her. “Are you going to open it?”
“I don’t want another fake penis.” She said.
“It’s not a fake penis, I’m sure that you’re quite content with the one you have, now just open the friggin’ box.” Ted picked it up and handed it to her again.
“I have access to a real penis now you know.” She said, “it’s… his name is Francis.”
“I know, and I’m happy for you, and him. Can you just open the present?” He was ready to open it for her.
“I don’t trust you Ted. I love you, but I don’t trust you.” She held the box dubiously.
“You love me?” He said in mock surprise.
“Yes, like a brother, an annoying little brother that tears the heads off my Barbies.”
“Ouch, that hurts.”
“What is it?” She asked again.
“Just open it for Christ’s sake, it’s nothing dirty, or inappropriate.” He promised.
“Since when aren’t you inappropriate?” She asked.
“Since today, now open it!”
She tentatively pulled the ribbon on the box. Secretly she actually wanted another dildo, hers was broken and she hadn’t had the courage to tell Ted that Francis and her were finished. She was coming around to Ted’s constant flirting and sexual innuendos.
“Take the lid off Nina.” He said.
She made a big show of being afraid. She pulled off the lid, inside was a…

[poll id="77"]

D. Ryan Leask

#5MinuteFiction Week 77 #NaNoWriMo Edition

November 15, 2011

What is 5MinuteFiction, you say? It’s an adrenaline-fueled, instant-gratification sort of writing contest. Sound fun? Great! Get in there and get dirty!

The Rules

* You get five minutes to write a piece of prose or poetry in any style or genre

* You must directly reference today’s prompt: Your main character is given a very nice, and completely harmless, gift by the antagonist.

(Note: The prompt is above. The picture is for decoration/inspiration.)

 
* Post your entry as a comment to this post.

I’ll close the contest at 12:45. That gives you 5 minutes to write and ten to accommodate the vagaries of relative time, technology, and the fickle internets. If you are confused or just want to whine, feel free to email me.

At the close of the contest, this week’s guest judgeTracey M. Hansen, @THansenWrites  will nominate five finalists.

I’ll put the nominees in a poll, and at 9:00 EDT tomorrow I’ll close the poll and declare the winner.

For updates, you can subscribe to my RSS Feed, “like” my Facebook Page, or follow me on twitter. Or follow us on twitter with the #5MinuteFiction hashtag.

What’s the prize? Well, nothing, obviously. But we’ll all agree to tweet and/or blog about the winner of today’s contest so their fame and fortune will be assured.

A Few Notes:

* In the interest of time and formatting, it’s best to type straight into the comment box or notepad. It’s also smart to do a quick highlight and copy before you hit “post” just in case the internets decide to eat your entry. If your entry doesn’t appear right away, email me. Sometimes comments go into the suspected spam folder and I have to dig them out.

* I reserve the right to remove hate speech or similar but I’m not too picky about the other stuff.

* This is all for fun and self-promotion. So be sure to put your twitter handle at the end of your post and a link to your blog if you have one.

#5MinuteFiction Week 76 #NaNoWriMo Edition WINNER!

November 9, 2011

Well she’s pulled it off with a amusing story about a guy who, well, isn’t like a lot of guys you meet, is he? ;) (Not that I’m saying anything about you fine gentlemen around here.)

So congratulations to Tauisha Nicole @shells2003, for her 5MinuteFiction win! She gets a copy of the new book The Worker Prince by our guest judge Bryan Thomas Schmidt, @BryanThomasS!

Here’s her entry again for you to enjoy. See you all next week!

Darci stretched her arms over her head when she awoke that morning. She rolled her hands over her freshly braided hair and sighed. Why on earth did Jamal think it okay to braid her hair, anyway? She never asked him for it.

Sighing, she showered, brushed her teeth and headed for the closet only rapped in a towel. Mentally, she was imagining the black pencil skirt and red silk blouse she wanted to wear to work that morning. Physically, though…her closet was empty.

Well…not completely.

There was a gorgeous pale orange pantsuit complete with ivory shirt, pumps and accessories. And a note. Frowning, she picked it up. Her frown only increased after reading the message:

Dear Darci,
The washer in the building is down, so I took all our clothes over to our other house to clean them. This outfit will have to do for the day. See you later, honey.

Your husband
Jamal

And he had the nerve to write a smiley face after the word husband.

She sighed. If only he’d sign those annulment papers, he wouldn’t have to do anything for her. Please, he still doesn’t have to. And what on earth does he mean, their other home? He needs to go back there and stay there, far away from her!

Muttering to herself, yet enjoying the new threads, she went into the kitchen just to grab a danish and run. Instead her donuts were gone…which made no sense! She just bought them yesterday! Just bought them! Instead, she see’s a plate with cut up fruit, two slices of toast, and an omelette. Oh. And a note:

Dear Darci,
You need to take better care of yourself. Enjoy a breakfast of champs!

Your loving husband
Jamal

“What on earth!” she yelled.

Sighed.

And ate breakfast.

Jamal was taking things way too far. Grumbling on her way to the landlord’s office, she wanted to drop off her check for rent and head on to work. When he came to the door, he smiled. “Hey, Darci! You never told me you were getting married! Congratulations!”

She put on a smile she really didn’t feel. “Thanks, Mr. Gordon. Hey, I just wanted to drop off your rent.”

He frowned. “Rent? Your husband paid you up for the next six months. Didn’t he tell you?”

He…did…what?

Still in shock, she went into her car and started it. Well, there’s one thing she could still do for herself. She had to go to the gas station and…

Sighing she rested her head on the steering wheel. Not anymore. She didn’t need a note from her husband to know why the needle pointed to F instead of E.

There’s nothing wrong with a nice goose to lay a great egg for you, but she wasn’t feeling the goose. She wasn’t feeling him at all.

#5MinuteFiction Week 76 #NaNoWriMo Edition FINALISTS!

November 8, 2011

Did you like the prompt? It was sorta a last minute idea, so maybe not one of my best. It went kinda wonky for me. Hope you had fun with it. As always, you people do marvelous things with my little brain hiccups.

So, who did our judge, Bryan Thomas Schmidt, @BryanThomasS, pick as the five finalists?

Here they are!

DL Thurston, @DL_Thurston

John Hancock, @Grokdad

Tauisha Nicole @shells2003

Jennifer Brinn, @JenBrinn

Day Al-Mohamed, @DayAlMohamed

Congrats to our finalists! Don’t forget, the winner gets a copy of the new book The Worker Prince by our guest judge Bryan Thomas Schmidt, @BryanThomasS! Entries are below so read and vote. Then come back tomorrow morning at 9:00 Eastern to see who wins!

DL Thurston, @DL_Thurston

He’d sought them for years, the men behind the new snack. That salty sweet crispy wafer of sodium and sugar that was destroying the world even as people fell further and further in love. He knew he wasn’t making any friends, he knew only that they had to be stopped.

They were secretive, moved around from place to place, city to city, even across national borders when it was necessary to escape detection. He wasn’t the only one tracking them down, just the only with murder in his heart. No. Not murder. Justifiable homicide. Saving the lives of those whose hearts were stopping, who couldn’t handle the sweet, the children who would been doomed to a live of obesity. High blood pressure. Diabetes.

There were six of them. There were millions to save.

When he finally saw them, he could hardly believe it. So long. They had become mythic. To see they were just men. To see them in their humble state. He had to remember their creation, unavoidable. The treat no man could stop eating.

He pulled out his rifle. It was now or never. He wouldn’t get this second chance. Not now that he’d found the cooks that glazed the golden Lays.

John Hancock, @Grokdad

Markwan made his way up the trailing stairway. A cold breeze threatened to pitch him over the side. He made the mistake of looking down.

All his training and he still looked down. 2,000 foot drop down into the pyrnoze mountains. Never a good idea to look down.

Carefully, he carried the royal pillow in his outstretched arms. Behind him trailed the rest of the priests of Kwann. Only he, son of a fisherman and a whore, had made it to this high office.
Finally they approached the 50 foot high tower doors. Guards in ceremonial dress and lochabers as tall as themselves opened the wooden inlaid doors.
The entourage entered with great care, avoiding the trap spikes set in alternate locations in the ancient tile floor.

“We come to you in the high season, Kwan Kwam.” He said as he knelt before the throne and cage.
Inside squawked the magical Enru, bird of poison plumage and wild call.
Inside the cage a series of mechanical levers made grinding noises. The machine was tripped by Markwan’s knees as he knelt.

Down the gilded royal trough rolled the enormous egg, tumbling wildly while all held their breath.
With a “humph” the egg landed in the pillow. It was beyond glorious. It was multicolored and laden with precious metals veins. This would be the mark of a great harvest. This would mean great prestige for his fledgling priesthood reign.

Proudly, he turned for the long journey down the stairway.

Halfway down, in pride, Markwan stopped to glory in his moment, in his station, in his stately bearing. At that moment, a gust of wind came by and blew the royal egg of harvest off his pillow and down the side of the gargantuan stairway.

Markwan, horrified, paused for a moment while the priestly entourage gasped.

Shrugging, Markwan took a deep breath and then ran and jumped off into the wild air, face full of shame and screaming.

In the tower, the bird calmly starting its year long process of laying the next egg.

Tauisha Nicole (@shells2003)

Darci stretched her arms over her head when she awoke that morning. She rolled her hands over her freshly braided hair and sighed. Why on earth did Jamal think it okay to braid her hair, anyway? She never asked him for it.

Sighing, she showered, brushed her teeth and headed for the closet only rapped in a towel. Mentally, she was imagining the black pencil skirt and red silk blouse she wanted to wear to work that morning. Physically, though…her closet was empty.

Well…not completely.

There was a gorgeous pale orange pantsuit complete with ivory shirt, pumps and accessories. And a note. Frowning, she picked it up. Her frown only increased after reading the message:

Dear Darci,
The washer in the building is down, so I took all our clothes over to our other house to clean them. This outfit will have to do for the day. See you later, honey.

Your husband
Jamal

And he had the nerve to write a smiley face after the word husband.

She sighed. If only he’d sign those annulment papers, he wouldn’t have to do anything for her. Please, he still doesn’t have to. And what on earth does he mean, their other home? He needs to go back there and stay there, far away from her!

Muttering to herself, yet enjoying the new threads, she went into the kitchen just to grab a danish and run. Instead her donuts were gone…which made no sense! She just bought them yesterday! Just bought them! Instead, she see’s a plate with cut up fruit, two slices of toast, and an omelette. Oh. And a note:

Dear Darci,
You need to take better care of yourself. Enjoy a breakfast of champs!

Your loving husband
Jamal

“What on earth!” she yelled.

Sighed.

And ate breakfast.

Jamal was taking things way too far. Grumbling on her way to the landlord’s office, she wanted to drop off her check for rent and head on to work. When he came to the door, he smiled. “Hey, Darci! You never told me you were getting married! Congratulations!”

She put on a smile she really didn’t feel. “Thanks, Mr. Gordon. Hey, I just wanted to drop off your rent.”

He frowned. “Rent? Your husband paid you up for the next six months. Didn’t he tell you?”

He…did…what?

Still in shock, she went into her car and started it. Well, there’s one thing she could still do for herself. She had to go to the gas station and…

Sighing she rested her head on the steering wheel. Not anymore. She didn’t need a note from her husband to know why the needle pointed to F instead of E.

There’s nothing wrong with a nice goose to lay a great egg for you, but she wasn’t feeling the goose. She wasn’t feeling him at all.

Jennifer Brinn, @JenBrinn

It had not been a goose, nor a swan, nor even a duck or chicken. Still, we searched for the origin of the mysterious eggs that were borne down the river to our village. Each one, bobbing along the currents, shells glittering in the sunlight or glowing in the moonless dark of winter nights, brought prosperity to whoever found it.

The midwife was given herbs upon cracking hers open. The herbs proved to soothe the most savage birth, and no woman has died since while in her labors. The carpenter found a tiny hammer within one that he could use to set the heaviest nails in the strongest wood with the gentlest taps. Others found coins or gems, keys to long-lost secret boxes, and once, a seed that grew into a tree whose fruit no one had ever seen before. Always in bloom, always in fruit, it saved the village through the worst of the drought the past two years.

The eggs had come slowly at first, then more and more until there would be at least one a day. That’s when the village elders decided that all the eggs must be brought to them for keeping. To spread forth the eggs’ benefits across the village, rather than to the lucky few who could spend their days waiting on the river banks. The eggs the elders opened proved rotten. The condemnation of the river’s bounty meant the elders’ blood must fill the river instead, and so they did.

Some died trying to swim up into the rapids to catch the eggs first. Some fought over sightings. My own father died trying to find just one for our family, not because of violence but because he neglected everything else. He simply sat upon the river’s edge, waiting, until thirst or hunger did him in.

When we found him there among the reeds, I knew what must be done. I gathered all our supplies of food and tools, my father’s hoe for defense. I would climb the mountain that fed the river, and find out why we were cursed with too many blessings.

I found the tiny drakeling, like a dragon of the stories made into a child’s toy, though its fangs were sharp and its fire hot. She laid her eggs in a cave near the mouth of the river. Like a hen without a rooster, her eggs bore her kind’s magic but no life. No yolk to become a chick. Unthinking, she pushed out of her cave into the water the useless, older eggs to make room for the new.

The ones made of gold sank, but the other floated free to destroy us.

I lifted the hoe. I knew now where the golden eggs came from. I did what I must do. I struck.

Day Al-Mohamed, @DayAlMohamed

“Please?”

Gepetto winced at the pleading in the voice and hunched even more closely over the cogs and gears on the desk in front of him. His glasses had slid down to the end of his nose as he squinted in the lamplight. There was a faint hiss as he turned the gas up to offer more illumination. It glinted dully off the pieces of broken machinery all around him. It wasn’t the internal workings that disturbed him so much as the exterior – the arms, the legs, the eyes. Especially the eyes. Automatons weren’t supposed to look at you like that.

He lifted his eyes to stare at the automaton that glowed like burnished brass in the light. But she was made of something far more valuable than bass. Gold, the most precious thing to him. Or almost most precious. Gepetto had wanted, no needed a family more. But in his pride; his hubris, she had paid the price.
“Enough.” The voice was heartbreaking. He could hear her loneliness and the hurt. They’d hurt her. They’d coveted and claimed and stolen and broken… and like any father, Gepetto grieved.

“Let me go.”

But also like most fathers, he wasn’t capable of letting go.

[poll id="76"]

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