50 Word Short Story: Bravery Can Be Lonely

             Shattered splinters sparkled, barely visible from certain angles – the baseball lay among them, decorated with tiny fragments. Outside, young voices rose and fell in panicked chorus, then faded amidst pounding feet that fled in the bright afternoon light. Alone, one pair treaded hesitantly but determinedly closer to the door.

Burning Brightly

A single candle –
A solo wick with two flames:
Dying twice as fast.


Sweet Dreams

Even in sleep, it calls
With haunting tones & shifting keys:
A melody of dreams, interwoven.
Un-nameable and ir-replicable –
Felt and seen, the mind sings in slumber.
The soundtrack of the soul is
A tumultuous tune – taunting and teasing
With unspeakable beauty and
Unplayable progressions.
An encompassing air –
Filling thoughts and hopes
It flirts then flees:
Ever there and
Forever out of reach.

Inspiration Has a Sound

Tick Tick Tack Tick
Keys are typed, a frenzied fit
Tack Tack Tick-Tick-Tick
Undo, erase, move on with it.

Clicking clatter, a clutter of clicks
Words flow out as the plot flows in.
The clicking stops, silence begins:
A pause to think, a sip of gin

Tick Tack Tick-Tack-Tick
Fingers fly with a manic grin
Tikkety Takkety Takkety Tick
The author goes in for the win,

On a roll as the story spins:
Victory is a horrible din.

Headache

Pulsing like a storm,
It throbs again and again:
Thought inhibitor

50 Word Short Story: Some Days Are Like That

             “Oh, life-giving box,” the man intoned, kneeling. “Thank you for your benevolent and generous ways!” With an expression of piety, the man laid his arms palms-down on the floor before him and waited.
            Beep.
            The man sprang up, grabbing the steaming hot food. A teenage girl sighed.
            “Dad, you’re weird.”

Third Wheel

Spinning in the air
Like a Ferris wheel on its side,
Tilted and useless.

Unable to touch the ground,
To get traction,
To move away or toward.

The wheel can only spin
And watch the other wheels
Rolling merrily by.


Coffee Might Tip The Scales

Chill winds and warm, sunny skies
Comfortable bed
A difficult dilemma


Facing Reality about Writing a Horror Story While You Watch

            The more I plan Bloodletting, the more I begin to think publishing it piece-by-piece as I write it is a bad idea. It needs to be much more orchestrated than the other two novels. Publishing one detail out of turn and finding out three posts later that the reader shouldn’t know that yet could dramatically change the overall effect of the plot – which could give you a bad experience with what I think could be a really good story. I don’t want to risk that if I don’t have to (and I don’t).
            Plotting out the details to slowly build each twist and turn to the level that the story deserves will be enough of a challenge (it’s a new level of intricacy for me), so Bloodletting is not going to be part of the daily post-as-I-write experiment for the foreseeable future. Sorry about that. I’ll probably post updates or more tidbits related to it later. I’ll definitely post something when I finish it (an announcement at least).
            I’m still not 100% sure this method will work for Deathwalker and Wind Town for the whole process, but I will keep updating those as part of the experiment for as long as it does work. And I will continue trying to write without modifying already-published scenes. After all, this is meant to stretch my brainpower and strengthen my writing skills. I have to make it at least somewhat different from how I usually write.
            On the plus side, having one fewer novel will free up more time for short stories, plays, and possibly more frequent novel updates (no promises). That said, sorry again for the change in plans, and thank you for your interest in these stories. I hope you enjoy them.


50 Word Short Story: Snooze

The bell rang for the next round. The fighter groaned, face planted firmly downward. “Get up,” her mind commanded. Even as the thought ended, the eyes fluttered heavily closed. Again, the bell rang. A hand fumbled for the only target that mattered. Enduring one last ring, she struck blindly. K.O.