Holy Cow. It’s the last day of NaNoWriMo. Well, it’s Tuesday isn’t it…
This, in case you somehow missed the title of the post, is 5MinuteFiction. You have been assimilated.
And welcome to 5MinuteFiction. That means we write fiction. In five minutes. Shocker, I know.
NEW for NOVEMBER: In honor of National Novel Writing Month, since most of us have lost our minds– I mean, are writers attempting NaNoWriMo–we’re going to add a NaNoWriMo twist to #5MinuteFiction. If you’re lucky, you might get to include your entries among the 50,000 word goal for your NaNovel.
The prompts for the month of November will focus on the main character of your WIP, and will be more specific than our normal one-word prompts. It ought to be interesting to see how some of these adapt to the more fantastical worlds some of us run with.
Now, if you’re one of those who has a brain and uses it, otherwise known as isn’t crazy enough to do NaNoWriMo, feel free to participate.
The Rules
* You get five minutes to write a piece of prose in any style or genre
* You must directly reference today’s prompt: Your Main Character writes a book in a month.
(Note: The prompt is the word. The picture is for decoration/inspiration.)
photo by InspirationDC
* Post your entry as a comment to this post.
I’ll close the contest at 1:45. That gives you five 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 judge,Richard Wood, @rbwood, will nominate five finalists. I’ll put the nominees in the poll on the side of the page, and at 9:30 PM EDT I’ll close the poll and declare the winner.
For updates, you can subscribe to my RSS Feed, or follow me on twitter.
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. 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.
I never saw what the problem was, writing a book. And calling 50,000 words a book? That’s a novella at best. I write more than that in my emails.
So, well, you know those disclaimers you sometimes get at the bottom of emails? The “intended for the intended recipient who should receive it and nobody else” disclaimers? Those got me thinking.
All that writing? That’s mine. And it can be yours, for the low price of $2.00 ePub, kindle, or PDF, or $12 print. What, you didn’t get an important email for me? Maybe it’s in the book.
Maybe I should start a magazine.
“This is weird.”
I looked up from my laptop to find Lex leaning in the archway to the living room, a strange expression darkening her features.
“What is?” I asked. She crossed to sit on the couch next to me.
“I’m used to seeing you captive to your paintbrush, Kelle, but writing?” She slid the back of her fingers along my cheek, eyes searching mine.
“It’s catharsis,” I whispered. She frowned and I turned the screen towards her, letting her read the dedication, watching as her lips parted at the import, then scrolled to the end and let her read the last sentence.
“Oh, Kelle,” she breathed, sliding her arm around my shoulders, tucking me against her. I set the computer aside and burrowed into her.
“I know I’ve kinda disappeared over the last month, but I had to get it all out,” I said, pursing my lips against the pulse fluttering against her skin. “It helped,” I added, lifting my eyes to meet hers.
Lex cupped my face in her hands. “I’m glad,” she said, leaning in to press her lips to mine ever so tenderly. “Do you want to do anything with it?” she asked and I blinked, the rush of blood to my nerves distracting me from her words.
“I don’t know yet.” I leaned into her, seeking her lips again, and she chuckled.
“Something tells me you’re distracted,” she murmured against my lips and I chuckled.
“You could say that.” A month of nothing but writing and dredging up a decade of old baggage. I craved her touch, her kiss, her fuck. “Take me, Lex,” I begged, “make me yours.”
“Always, baby,” she answered, tugging me into her lap, letting her kiss take the sharp edge I’d come to need. “And you’ve always been mine.”
@AislingWeaver
Jerry’s teacher had to be crazy. There was no way that Mr. Tisdale could expect the adults in his developmentally disabled class to write a whole book in a month. Jerry still had trouble putting together a two-page essay.
“Jerry, all you have to do is write as much as you can about one thing,” Mr. Tisdale had said. He was going to be the one to upload what the students wrote on a website. Each student would have his own ebook.
The thing was Jerry had never read an ebook before. After talking with his group home manager about the assignment, he decided to write about how mad his teacher made him with his assignments that were too hard.
Although it only had 2620 words, his ebook turned out to be a bestseller on the site. Apparently, a lot of people could relate.
@kalencap
‘But my fingers are bleeding’ Taslu whimpered, unable to raise her head where it hung inches from the old fashioned metal typewriter. The letters & numbers were worn off the keys, the levers and cogs inside dirty and cobwebbed, but also dripping in dried, congealing and fresh blood; he’d forced her here, hour upon hour, day after day, to write for the last 30 days.
‘Type it, type ‘The End”, he calmly and quietly instructed.
She didn’t know if any of it would make sense to anyone, it certainly didn’t make any sense to her anymore. Her mind was a jumble of confused feelings, but mostly no feelings at all as she felt broken and empty; he had taken everything from her when he stole her from her home & locked her here in this dark place with only his voice, not even his face, for company.
Would he free her now that it was finished? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. She belonged to him now to do with what he wished, she was devoid of desire for anything but for the writing to stop; and with that, she typed with shaking, cold & blood streaked fingers, ‘The End’.
@lil_monmon
Linus stared at the stack of parchment in dismay. He was surrounded by broken pen nibs and scraps of blotting paper. Ink covered his thumb and made an ugly band across his middle finger. Black smudges criss-crossed his forehead where he compulsively played with his hair. There was probably some ink in the grey bristles as well.
“Irene?” he called out.
“What, Dad?” said his daughter coming in. She tsked briefly over the stacked up plates and empty tea mugs.
“How do you spell ‘comprehensively’?”
“Er.. d’you mean spelling so people can understand?”
“No, the word itself,” grumbled Linus making another black streak across his chin as he rubbed his stubble. “Is it P-R-I or P-R-E?”
“Dad?” asked Irene looking over his shoulder.
“What?”
“I don’t think that’s the word you’re looking for.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. In fact, I think the word you want is ‘aquatic’.”
“Does that mean the same thing?” asked Linus.
“No, it means something quite different…which is why I would change it. Really, dad. I should get you a dictionary.”
“No thanks, I just ate,” said Linus…before spilling the inkpot.
“SHIT!”
@AlcyoneAlchemy
“Your deadline is the first,” the voice on the phone said.
“The first of the year, right?” Alex’s fingers tightened on the receiver. Please let it be January or even February. Heck, July was more feasible.
“December first, Alex. We’ve been waiting for the new manuscript for months. I loved the outline you sent, but there’s been nothing since. Is everything okay?” Her voice sounded wary. It usually did when she was afraid that Alex wasn’t going to produce another novel.
Was everything okay, though? Alex looked away from the wall she’d been staring at. Her house guest was right where she’d left him, reclining on the couch. His green hair caught the light from the desk lamp, shimmering like dew on a pine tree. No, she decided, everything wasn’t okay. Not so long as a demon was holed up in her house.
A demon that ate almost every word she wrote.
“I, ah, I don’t think I can write a whole novel in a month, Carrie.” Alex admitted and cringed when she realized her slip.
“You haven’t even started on it? Alex, I have to have something by the first or the contract will be voided.”
Alex looked at the calendar. She had thirty days to write a novel. All while Titivillus was trying to destroy her work. “I’ll do my best.”
“What was that about, chickie?” Titivillus frowned, picking up her frustration as the phone slammed back in its charger.
“Looks like we’re going back to work.” She rolled her chair back to her desk and pulled up the file that only contained two words, the title of her new novel.
“Oh goody!” A large bag appeared in his hand as the demon skipped over and took up his spot on the floor next to the desk. “Use some big ones, I’m feeling peckish.”
@RCMurphy
Daniel straightened up in the chair, stretching out tight shoulders and the hand that was starting to cramp from hours holding the pen.
He looked at the last words he had written.
We made only a cursory search for her, for we all knew she would not be found. We returned to the castle the following day; the five remaining soldiers and myself. Cirst too was missing, but the soldiers cared nothing for that, and I was certain he had gone with her. If not, and harm has come to him, the blame for that, as in most of this, lies with me.
It had not yet been a month since he’d returned to the palace, to find King Harold murdered and Garris crowned. In a sort of numb resignation, Daniel had accepted the appointment to Royal Magician. It was a fitting punishment for his sins.
Since that day, he’d been possessed with a feverish need to record all the events that had occurred since he’d first seen Sarah that day in the throne room, shining with the aura of barely suppressed magic that didn’t quite eclipse the beauty of her face. And so every night, for hours at a time, it poured out of him onto the page, like the poison of infection draining from a wound. The events of a year–that had felt like twenty–had been set down within days.
He’d intended it for the Royal Library, as a necessary history of what had befallen the Kingdom, the King, and the former Royal Magician.
But looking down at it now, at all the heartbreak recorded within, he set it quietly aside, inside his desk drawer, locked it, and stood, key in hand.
He stepped out onto the balcony of his new, grand rooms overlooking the lake. He hurled the key with all his might and watched, with a feeling of relief, the tiny splash as the key sank into the deep water and out of sight.
“Ah Jaysus! are you just going to ignore me?”
“I’ll be with ye in a sec.”
“What’s going on here, we never communicate anymore, we barely even talk to each other.”
“I’ll talk to ye in a minute, I just need to finish this.”
“Yeah right, I could stand here with my tits hanging out and you wouldn’t even notice.”
“Sure I would.”
“Can you not even look up from that stupid computer while we are fighting.”
“We’re fighting?”
“Look at me for fuck sake!”
“Please just let me finish this chapter and I’ll do whatever you want.”
“It’s too late for us, I’m walking out that door and I’m going to a bar and I’m going to fuck the brains out of the first guy who buys me a drink. What do you think of that. I’ll bet he’ll be a better fuck than you.”
“Hm hm, nearly finished.”
“I want a man who’ll appreciate me, one who’ll look after my needs. Take me to dinner, buy me flowers and presents. I want a man who knows how to give me an orgasm, is that too much to ask?”
“I’ll do what ever you want, I just have to get this book finished in a month.”
“You and you’re stupid bloody book. Look at me, I’m gasping for it, I’m not even going to wait to get to the bar. The first man I see can have me.”
“Nearly finished.”
“Oh go fuck off. That’s it, I’m going.”
“Sorry, dear, nearly finished. What were you saying?”
Checklist for Writing a Novel in a Month
– A feeling of purpose with a set goal that on the outset looks quite possible. “It’s less than 2000 words a day! I can do that in my sleep!”
– Forget sleeping.
– Ready-made excuse to get out of Thanksgiving dinner early. If necessary begin a discussion about politics with Uncle Randy and sneak out during his tirade about “Obamacare.”
– Case of Four Loko to satiate your need for both alcohol AND stimulants.
– Increasingly vague descriptions that involve numerous words. (Hey! They count!)
– Leave your sanity and dignity somewhere safe to recollect in December.
@briefconceits
http://briefconceits.com
It wasn’t easy, but she’d finally did it. And after reading the last sentence, she smiled. Her story was complete. Took her thirty days, but she’d finally done it.
Michelle wrote about what happened to her over ten years ago. Ok, so Adrian doesn’t know why she couldn’t make it to the train station to elope with him…
“Well, he will now,” she smiled.
“Know what?” Novia called from her placed curled up on the sofa with her laptop.
“You know that nanowrimo thing I was telling you about?” she asked.
“Yeah. You never told me what you were writing about,” Novia responded.
“It’s the story about us. Where we’ve been, what we’ve done this las decade,” Michelle sighed. “Adrian wouldn’t listen to me and understand the reasons why I never came to meet him. Well, now the world will know.”
She entered her words, all 70,000 of them into the win box on the website and submitted them. She felt more than a winner for doing this. But, not only did she submit it to the writing contest, she also sent them in an email to Adrian. She managed to get his email address from off a business card he gave to Novia.
After pressing send in her email, she muttered, “And now…so will he.”
Novia shot up, nearly dropping her laptop. “What!”
She ran over, looking over Michelle’s shoulder. “You didn’t! You couldn’t!”
“I could, and I did,” she sighed.
“B-b-but, why? Why did you do it?”
Michelle shrugged. “Well, he needed an explanation, and I needed to get it out. Writing it all down has really shown me how crazy I was all those years ago to let him leave without me. Sure, my parents threatened to disown me. But, in the end, not only did I lose them anyway, I lost him.”
Novia rubbed her friend’s shoulder comfortingly. “So, he needed the story. He needed my teenage reasoning. But most importantly…”
A lone tear escaped from Michelle’s eye. She tried to wipe it away with an unsteady hand. Sighing, she finished, “He needed to know that I did love him…that I still love him. Ten years could never change that.”
Novia nodded. “And if he doesn’t forgive you?”
Michelle shrugged. “Didn’t ask for his forgiveness. Why, when I can’t even forgive myself? Our happiness shattered…and all because I was too young to deal with love. I can now…but much too late.”
Sighing, she stood and went to her room to be alone.
The world ends one month from tomorrow. That’s what the astronomers say.
They’ve known for over a year the asteroid was heading our way, they managed to keep to keep it a secret until six months ago, and last week, they told us the exact date of impact: March 3, 1997.
President Palin has called for peace, calm, and prayer, and surprisingly, the world is listening.
Many seem happy to escape this bizarre reality; if even by death. Some hope this asteroid will not destroy the world, but simply return it back to normal. That the impact will propel us fifteen years forward, and these last seven years will we be wiped away just as easily as twenty-two years was.
I am less hopeful.
So in this last month, I’ll enjoy the time I have with Hayley, take Charlie the II out on some extra long walks, and write my account of the last seven years.
I’m not sure why. Just in case, I guess.
Time! Goodness gracious! I thought I wouldn’t get to write one today. Everyone at work suddenly needed me.
Well, they just had to wait, didn’t they?
Have fun?
Come back at 3:00 for the finalists and to vote for the winner!