NEW! .4K Writing Competition: A Season to Be Brief

[izzarina]

Creepy.

I agree Especially since I can see myself in that one (to a certain extent anyway)

[Will O'B]

Ok. I really don't know how you people are doing it. Everything I attempt is well over the .4 K limit. AUGHHHHH!!! When I write, the piece has a mind of it's own . . . I don't know what the next sentence will be, let alone how it's going to end. The thing just keeps going until it's finished. And by then, as you've seen, it's too late. Perhaps I'll try a "short" character sketch or limit the scene to just dialogue. Now all I need is a story idea . . .

Will O'Ban

[FJohnSharp]

Ok. I really don't know how you people are doing it. Everything I attempt is well over the .4 K limit. AUGHHHHH!!! When I write, the piece has a mind of it's own . . . I don't know what the next sentence will be, let alone how it's going to end. The thing just keeps going until it's finished. And by then, as you've seen, it's too late. Perhaps I'll try a "short" character sketch or limit the scene to just dialogue. Now all I need is a story idea . . .

Will O'Ban

It's really hard to keep it under 400. What I try to do is not think of too big a story. Something very small, a moment that needs illuminating.

[emmline]

It comes from years of beating back the clutter of 5 other people...one learns to be ruthless.

[Will O'B]

It's really hard to keep it under 400. What I try to do is not think of too big a story. Something very small, a moment that needs illuminating.

Precisely what I have been trying to do lately. Unfortunately, the moment requires further clarification, then it doesn't stand on it's own at that point in time, which leads to another moment, which . . .

I think that right now I'm just going through writer's fatigue. Can't think straight. Goodbye for now.

Will O'Ban

[Bloomfield]

I know the 400 word limit is hard. Makes it fun, though. Just really edit it down to the bare bones, don't be afraid of the meaning that will evolve. Just to show you, here is your last post, edited down a bit:

BEFORE:

It's really hard to keep it under 400. What I try to do is not think of too big a story. Something very small, a moment that needs illuminating.

Precisely what I have been trying to do lately. Unfortunately, the moment requires further clarification, then it doesn't stand on it's own at that point in time, which leads to another moment, which . . .

I think that right now I'm just going through writer's fatigue. Can't think straight. Goodbye for now.

Will O'Ban

AFTER:

It's really hard to keep it under 400. What I try to do is not think of too big a story. Something very small, a moment that needs illuminating.

Precisely.

Can't think straight. Goodbye.

Will O'Ban

From 50 down to 5.

[Will O'B]

Thanks, Bloo. You can tell when I'm exhausted . . . the brain shuts down. Time to pull out Papa Hemingway for inspiration. Sit in a clean well-lighted place and read Hills Like White Elephants.

Cheers,

Will O'Ban

[FJohnSharp]

And 43 words

I know the 400 word limit is hard. Makes it fun, though. Just really edit it down to the bare bones, don't be afraid of the meaning that will evolve. Just to show you, here is your last post, edited down a bit:

Becomes 20


400 word limit, hard. Fun, though. Edit to bare bones, don't fear an evolving meaning. See your last post, edited:

[FJohnSharp]

There used to be a e-zine that featured fiction whose word count was strictly in the progression 2,4,8,16,32,64,128 etc. It could be anywhere in the progression. You'd find youself adding words to get to 4096.

[FJohnSharp]

bump

[Will O'B]

Entry (399 words) Will O'Ban

Jonah

". . .do you need help getting home?"

The boy stood, frozen, staring dumbly at the crack running underneath his mismatched shoes.

"Look, if you don't talk to me I can't help you. . . Do you live around here?" The officer knew better than to ask. This was a cricker on the wrong side of town. He didn't need someone telling him the obvious. Cars slowed as they drove past and the people inside stared at the boy staring at his mismatched shoes.

A second police car stopped. The fat man inside rolled down the window. "What's going on, Sherlock?" the fat policeman asked. He saw the boy standing stiffly on the sidewalk. "What's he doing here?"

"Don't know. Can't get him to talk to me," the first policeman said.

"Hey, boy! What's your name?" The boy never raised his face to acknowledge the fat policeman. "Christ, a retard and a cricker," the fat policeman said. "Even my stupid hound looks at me when I talk to him."

"Maybe he doesn't live near Pilcher Creek . . . that's pretty far from here," said the first policeman. Pilcher Creek was a stagnant body of water at the south edge of the town. It was where the town drained its sewage, and its terrible odor inspired the locals to call it "sh*t Creek." Those who lived around its banks in the dirt-floor shacks were known throughout the town as "crickers."

"Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock," the fat policeman said with a sour face. "I can smell the little f*rt all the way over here!" He glanced at the traffic in his rearview mirror. "The question is . . . what are you going to do with him?"

The first policeman shook his head and looked down at his freshly polished shoes. "Don't know. Guess I'll take him back to the station. Someone there might get him to talk." His stomach wrenched at the thought of sitting in the police car with the boy's odor.

"Well you better think up something fast. The poker game starts in just over an hour, and you're not crappin' out at the last minute again. The old lady's birthday's next week and I need your money." Then the fat policeman drove away.

The first policeman helped the boy with the mismatched shoes into his car. When all the windows were opened he drove downtown.

[MarkB]

I'll give it a go!

Make Haste

The sky darkens,
The heart warms,
Make haste my love,
There are storms pending,
Both that are natures way.

One is accepted.
The other, complex, not wanting to complicate.
High, low, winter snows, summer torrents thundering
Describes my love.
Come with man cowering lightening cracking,
Yet, as softly as a spring blossom day.

Make haste my love,
My heart warms,
And the sky darkens.

Mark Bradley
c. 2003

[emmline]

By George he's got it! (By George he's got it!)

(Mark, your piece is lovely, very sensual...but I'm referring to Will and his valiant efforts to fit within contest parameters)

[Nanohedron]

Inane Entry:


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A Missing Bit of Orthography

--Now you sit at a loss, again, Nano, only it’s not for any lack of inspiration this go-round. You look up and down and all around, but cannot find it. Possibly it’s hiding? Did it fall into criminal hands? What’s missing you must do without, and such a difficulty isn’t all that daunting, but it’s a royal pain. As if a normal taskload isn’t fair play. Criminy, you say inwardly. It’s probably right in front of you, laughing at you for a blind fool. You sigh, and carry on anyway, trusting that it’ll show up tardily, and what with your work all finito and post-fast. Okay. Do it anyway. Show it who’s da man. You can slog by without it, no prob. So far, so good, anyhow, but not that you can show anything worth writing about…as if it counts for much. A goal is a goal, and if Naysay and Pishtosh complain or badmouth your opus, too bad. You simply can’t worry about that ilk and what bilious carping may accompany such a chorus of sniping yobs. Put that away from your thoughts, and do as worthy a job of it as you can. Okay, so your imagination is basically chasing its own tail, spinning in a tight loop, but a goal’s a goal, and that’ll do for you. Oh, blast. Stop kidding around. It’s missing, no ignoring that fact, and you want it back. Now. Oh, hang it up, Bud, you think. Stop blocking the doorway and graciously bow out, wouldja? Alrighty, alrighty…it’s still missing, but you can say you did it anyway. Woohoo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Well, I think I did it, anyway. My eyes are killin' me.)

[emmline]

Naysay and Pishtosh

Ya' want me to take those guys out for ya' Nano?