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

[Nanohedron]

Naysay and Pishtosh

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

Nah. They're whetstones upon which to sharpen my tongue. Valuable in a dreary sort of way.

[kga26]

O.K. I'm gonna post my entry. Done very quickly. only 300 words I'm afraid, but wanted to have a go anyway. Don't laugh!!!!


He sat silently and contemplated the scene.

A weak autumn sun started to shine in through the open window and a delicate breeze caught the undulating linen curtain. He watched every movement, his green eyes mesmerized by the shifting changing shape of the fabric, finding comfort in the hypnotic rythm of its dance.

He hadn't meant to do it! He hadn't meant to do it! He loved her....how could he have done it?

This was dawn, and soon his dark fears would rise to meet him in the coming day.

He didn't mean to do it, it couldn't be helped...he couldn't help himself!

The glass vase lay on its side smashed into the glass top of the coffee table. So much glass. He remembered the sound as it broke and shattered, the fear he had felt, and his eyes returned to the curtain. It rose and fell, swayed this way and that, calmed, rose and fell again, he would concentrate on that, it was best.

Four drops of frank blood lay next to the flowers, now beginning to wilt, their smashed stalks, green and raw pointing skywards.

The water from the vase had gathered into little eddies and was dropping through the broken glass to form perfect shiny pools on the carpet.........nostalgia gripped him, he remembered the perfect night after choosing the carpet , her joy and pleasure, the night she had sat so close to him on the sofa, kissing, carressing, stroking, holding him close....

His gaze returned to the curtains, rising, falling, that was best.


A noise, he starts, the electric purr of a milkfloat in the street, tail between his legs, the guilty tomcat darts back into the dawn.

[glauber]

Here we go....

Friday

Friday. He sits in his cubicle waiting for time to go, glancing furtively at the computer screen every minute or so. Outside, it's getting dark; it looks like it's going to rain. "What have you done, recently, that you can be proud of?"

He thinks of his wife at home. What mood will she be in? He remembers the day when they bought her first car, the way she looked when she drove it home. He thought she looked happy, radiant, driving her first car. Later, she told him she had been scared.

[Will O'B]

...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.

They sound like a couple of naybobs.

Will O'Ban

[Paul]

ENTRY

The button marked "power"

Geoff visually located the button marked "power" on the front panel of the stereo. He then lifted his arm so that his hand was at the same level as the button marked "power". and then folding his hand into a lightly held fist, he extended his index finger horizontally and located his hand so that his index finger was more or less centered over the button marked "power".

Then he moved his arm forward horizontally with his index finger still outstretched. The more he moved his arm in that direction, the closer his finger came to the button marked "power". Eventually Geoff's index finger, still outstretched, made contact with the button marked "power". Even though his index finger was pressing against the button marked "power", Geoff continued to move his arm forward in the same direction but with slightly more force as the button marked "power" reacted with a very slight bit of resistance.

Eventually, with the increase in force, the button marked "power" began to move in the same direction that Geoff's arm was moving. Finally, the button marked "power would move no further, and this event was made evident by a sound that is best described as a click.

At this point, Geoff disengaged his index finger from the button marked "power" and the button marked "power" returned very quickly to its original position. Geoff immdeiately heard what he assumed was the sound his favorite radio station filling his ears. And then, all of a sudden, everyone got run over by a truck.

[LeeMarsh]

Many a word has been put to music, but my submission is the opposite. I heard this tune, written by Carol Skinner, that sparked a vision vivid that the following is my attempt to reminisce in words.


Our Song


"Grandma, Grand-dad, what's with this ‘Autumn Mountain Met' tune?"
<pre>
"Well children it happened like this. 10 years ago..."
"Fifteen"
"I was walkin' along thinkin', ‘Smells clean up here along the trail;
this little hike should be just the thing to ...'"
"Hello Jonathan"
"Hel--lo Reee-becca, 40 years and you're still a sight to behold, a .."
"Jon"
"Yeah "
"Tree."
"AAuugh!"
"Still have trouble walking and talking, I see"
"Only with you, Becca, and always with you."
"What've you been doin' with your life these past decades"
"Lots ... and yet"
"Regrets?"
"Lots. Each of my kids, I envision with your hair, your eyes,
for rest assured they have your sense of the absurd.
Gone to their own families now. You?"
"Absurd?"
"Us together, that was absurd."
"Jon, that's not you talking."
"No, families, your side, my side; all tellin' us daily or weekly..
Hah, or even hourly, when they were on a roll... But always telling us."
"Yeah, we were to good to be true, high school sweethearts,
a connection between opposites, that they couldn't fathom."
"And you, Becca?"
"What?"
"Regrets?"
"Hmm, not for anything I have. Kids, memories of their father,
career, friends, all good. But still ... yes, regrets
for what might have been. We'd have set the world alight.
Wouldn't we have?"
"Yep, a real fire storm."
"Jon, kids but no wedding ring?"
"She past year before last"
"My Tom's been gone nearly a decade."

"And we walked and talked ..."
"And ran in to trees"
"Ahem, well... yeah, well we hiked down the ridge...
"And back"
"Until my Becca stops and says"
"Jon, mayhaps the world needs a light"
"A bon fire?"
"A Fire Storm"
"Ours?"
"If that's a proposal, I do"

"And a lady"
"up Chicago way"
" wrote this tune"
"That put us to mind"
"Of ten years ago"
"fifteen"
"And our walk in the wood".
"We thought about renaming the tune"
"To the Grand Children"
"Of The Absurd"
"But, "
"Autumn"
"Mountain"
"Met"
"Will "
"Do."




** <a href=http://tinwhistletunes.com/clipssnip/Au ... mp3>Autumn Mountain Met</a> by Carol Skinner, played by Lee Marsh, can be heard thanks to Tony Higgins on www.tinwhisltetunes.com
</pre>

[emmline]

Nice.

[Will O'B]

Tunes can do that. I like it, Lee.

Will O'Ban

[izzarina]

That was beautiful...thank you Lee!

[scottielvr]

....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. ... 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...

Nano's anguished posts reminded me of this panel I've saved for years, from Matt Groening's brilliant series Life In Hell...just substitute "writer" for "artist":
(note- I scanned the cartoon at high resolution but it refused to appear that way on the page, so you'll have to zoom to read the smaller print...sorry).



Well, okay, Nano, so stop goofing around and do a story. It's easy, really. All you have to do is just open up a vein and write.

[carrie]

Not an entry, just a seasonal contribution.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Day Everything Went Wrong

The dog sat alertly. There was a busy silence at the dinner table, for the man and woman and the baby in her high chair were all hungrily eating. Finally, his first urgent hunger satisfied, the man sat back, shook his head, and said, “Boy, am I glad to see this day come to an end. You wouldn’t believe the things that went wrong.“ The woman said, “Oh, for me too, but tell me about yours first.” It started, he said, with the ride to work…

As he set the morning scene, the baby picked up the shiny piece of shattered light bulb that had landed earlier in the day, unnoticed, on her high chair seat, looked at it mesmerized, and lifted it to her mouth. Just then, a piece of meatloaf fell off the man’s fork as he gestured to show that the near miss with the semi created so much wind that it rocked the car and caused the day’s first disaster: his giant bag of Good ‘N Plenty spilled all over the floor of the front seat. The dog, seizing the meatloaf moment, raced to the cleanup, on his way knocking into the legs of the high chair. In the shakeup the baby dropped the piece of glass, which fell through the grate on the heating duct. She cried and threw her bowl of sweet potatoes to the floor. “Wouldn’t you know? I just washed the floor this morning,” the woman sighed. “So I had to clean all that up,” the man continued, “real dignified, brushing out Good ‘N Plenty from the car in my ‘Vice-President’ parking space. Then later, I go to get some coffee, but some jerk has left an empty pot on the burner, so if I want any coffee, I have to wash it and make a fresh pot. It’s like the last thing I needed.” The woman clucked incredulously as she settled the baby down with a fresh bowl, rubbing her back gently. “Some people.” “Oh just wait, there’s more,” he said.

And so it went, as the man and woman, getting full, shared the tribulations of the day, and the last light faded from the sky. The kitchen was bright and warm. The baby chewed on her soft-tipped spoon, her face orange with sweet potato, and the dog groomed noisily under the table.

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

[Nanohedron]

Not an entry??? No go, Carol! I like it. C'mon; de-unentry it. Please.

[dubhlinn]

Not an entry??? No go, Carol! I like it. C'mon; de-unentry it. Please.

Hey Nano,

You tryin' to fix this race......,

Slan,
D.

[Nanohedron]

Not an entry??? No go, Carol! I like it. C'mon; de-unentry it. Please.

Hey Nano,

You tryin' to fix this race......,

Slan,
D.

So, D, is that an entry?

[Bloomfield]

Another anonymous entry.

---------------------------------

A nonfiction, truly educational entry:

I am so often asked, “What does a textbook editor really do?” that I thought I would write up a brief explanation of what has been my life’s work, and a rewarding career it’s been, too. I work mainly in language arts and social studies, but I can safely say that the tricks of the trade cross all disciplines, guaranteeing that... well, guaranteeing.

As with any piece of writing, in order to understand the work and skills involved, there are two questions that you must ask. First, what is the purpose of this writing? Second, who is the intended audience?

The first question: What is the purpose of textbooks? Obviously, the purpose of textbooks is sell them. The U.S. textbook industry grossed well over $2.3 billion last year, and the industry is growing. Forecasts are favorable despite the crisis of public school funding. Competition has been tough, however. Still, we have been very successful in a program to sell textbooks to parents of children directly, relieving the pressure on the public school budget. We do have had to charge a certain premium in these instances, but we donate almost 1% of our profits to worthwhile charities each year.

The second questions to ask is: Who is the intended audience of the product? This is a issue that we feel is not being properly taught at university, and it takes our young editors considerable time to adjust their mindsets (and to stop referring to our products as “books”). The intended audience for our products is the local Textbook Committee. That is the hard truth facing all textbook editors. If a product does not pass muster before the Textbook Committee, it will not sell (please refer back to the first question). The only relevant consideration for passing muster before the Textbook Committee is taking as much content out of the product as possible. There is never an objection to what isn’t in a product. The Textbook Committee invariably finds fault with something that is in the product. For example, it is best not to mention that Thomas Jefferson had parents: they were white slave-owners and half of them were male. We couldn’t sell that one at all. Don’t forget your intended audience.