Welcome back to another Friday Night Drabble Party!
Hey, did you know I do a live reading of each week’s drabble? True story! But, the only way you can get access is to sign up for my mailing list. I know, I know, you’re afraid of spam. Trust me. I won’t spam you. I don’t have time to spam anyone. So, sign your ass up, yo! You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain!
Now, on to the 100 words of super groovy, super grooviness!
Left To Haunt
Lost in thought, Gary faced the glass doors and stared into the street beyond. Throngs of people out for the Holiday shopping season packed the sidewalks.
There was a woman outside. There were many women, but one in particular pulled him from his thoughts. Her eyes. Cold, black, empty, dead. So dead.
He shook his head and turned. His wife stood there, puzzled.
“Lost you there,” she said and smiled.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said, returning the smile.
His attention returned to the street, but the woman was gone, only the memory of her eyes left to haunt him.
Disclaimer: The weather outside is frightful…
Time for one more episode in November! I squeaked it in!
Speaking of time, this episode is all about how I structure and schedule what I will be writing over the next few months. I go into detail on how I pick my projects and how I recover when the best laid plans get off track. This is a good one for those of you that struggle with budgeting your time.
Twas the day after thanksgiving, and all through the house, food comas continue to subdue the rabble.
Rabble rhymes with drabble!
Hey, you remember when I was asking everyone to pledge to the Mountain Of Words Write-A-Thon? Do ya? Well, about four of you did! Yay for you four!
The rest of you…? For shame, I say! FOR SHAME!
Want to rid yourself of that shame the day after saying how thankful you are for all the stuff in your life? DONATE! That’s right, you can still donate to the Asheville Writers in the Schools program. Click, click, click!
Now, on to the free micro-fiction!
Gears ground as he tried to force the shifter into third. The stick kicked hard against his palm. That would leave a bruise. Bruises were the least of his worries.
The pedal thumped against the sole of his boot, the clutch refusing to engage. He snarled as he fought back, shoving his foot down, determined to leave second gear.
Screaming, the engine protested the revolutions per minute forced on it. Screaming back, he dared to glance into the rearview mirror. The black sedan was gaining.
It would be on him after the next curve.
Damn that third gear to hell.
Disclaimer: Go that way, really fast. If something gets in your way, turn.
Welcome to this week’s Party!
I missed last week. I know. The Fam had the day off from school and I was busy editing Stone Cold Bastards. It was a busy day. Plus, I just wasn’t feeling it. I’m sure some of you understand.
But, we’re back this week!
Before we dive into the 100 words of most excellent fiction, how about you do me favor and help out some Asheville youths that are part of the Asheville Writers in the Schools program. Now more than ever we need to strengthen the next generation of artists and writers. Please pledge. If you appreciate the free fiction I give out every week, or just want to be a decent human being (yeah, I went there), then pledge a couple dollars. Those dollars could help build a new future. I think we could use a new future.
And if you are in the Asheville area on Saturday, I’ll be at Malaprop’s from 1-4pm participating in the fundraising event. Click the link below to pledge and for more info. Please.
Now, on to the free micro-fiction. Free. Free, free, free. Free.
Name One Era
“What’s that?” Lyle asked.
“Time machine,” Hopper replied.
“A time machine? Seriously?” Lyle said. “Do you know how dangerous that is? Why would you build that?”
“To go back to when this country was great,” Hopper said, powering up the machine.
“When the hell was that?” Lyle asked. “Please name one era where this country wasn’t ruled by greed and bigotry?”
“That’s easy,” Hopper replied. “It was… Well, you know…”
“You got nothing,” Lyle said. “Come on. Let’s get a beer.”
“1870’s beer?” Hopper asked, hopeful.
“Sure, an 1870’s beer,” Lyle said. “If that’ll make you feel better.”
Disclaimer: PLEDGE NOW! NOW! NOW!
The latest episode of Writing In Suburbia is here!
This week I am exceptionally rambly. I know, I know, that is saying a lot. But, hey, it’s been a weird couple of weeks and I needed a few minutes to just purge and get my head on straight. It’s all part of the writing process and experience.