She was finished sitting around waiting for him to finally
leave his noisy, big haired wife. It was time to take matters into her own
hands, and what better time than the Christmas party? Armed with a ball of waxy
leaves sprouting tiny white flowers that hung from a red bow, she marched up to
her target and grinned wickedly holding the ball above them as high as her arm
would allow. He looked around them at everyone and shot her a death glance, but
leaned in for a good-natured peck on her cheek, but at the last moment she
turned her head, in an age old girl move, forcing him to kiss her smack on the
lips. When she wound her arms possessively around his neck, and deepened the
kiss, she heard the satisfying sound of his wife gasp followed by her loud exit
Link up your own MISTLETOE story here. Check out past Five Sentence Fiction posts here.
Jacob snuck down the stairs, looking back over his shoulder
to be sure his parents weren’t following, and stopped at the bottom to peek
around the door to the chimney. Santa wasn’t here yet, but Jacob knew it wouldn't be long now. Since putting those worms in Suzie Jo Martin’s hair had made
everyone so angry, he was sure his name was on the naughty list. He knew Santa wouldn’t
be able to resist the milk and cookies, so Jacob had left a note to ensure the shiny
red bike would finally be his. There was no poison in the milk, of course, but
Santa wouldn’t know that.
You came into my life as the birds began their Spring song. Brightly
colored blooms surrounded us in the park that day. I remember the way you
smiled with your whole face as you jogged over to me, apologizing for Brutus’s
forgotten manners. I looked down at my new white skirt, freshly stained with
the coffee I spilled when Brutus greeted me, and just laughed. We’d never met
before, but I loved him. He looked through me with the intelligent eyes of a
dog who knows a broken person when he sees them.
The Summer was one of cherished memories, our spring crush
turned to summer love. I remember the long, lazy days on the beach with you and
Brutus. The day Brutus saved the little boy’s ball from being swept out to sea
was a special one for me. You glowed with pride watching him dive right in to
grab the ball tightly between his teeth and, after shaking the salty wetness
from his back, trot over to the toddler and lay the ball at his feet.
Soon the leaves turned fiery shades of orange, red, and
yellow. In a blink the beauty was gone, and the leaves became dry, brown,
crunches beneath our feet. It was then Brutus began spending more time on the
couch, less time chasing his favorite tennis ball. I think you knew before I did;
you tried to protect me. I watched the
spark die in Brutus’ eyes a little more each day. You and I would share
desperate glances over his furry head, knowing there was nothing we could do
but love him.
We were given a year of bliss with Brutus. I owe my life to
him for what he taught me about love and happiness.
What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction. This week’s inspiration word is: POISON
She glares at the cursor, irritated by its mocking blink reminding
her she spent too much time using backspace, Facebook and Twitter. Five hours at the desk with only nineteen words
to show for her numb rear and strained eyes. Sure, there had been more words at
certain parts of the day, but in the end only nineteen remained. Sitting back
in her brown leather chair, she imagined how it might feel to take her laptop
outside to run over it with her car a few times, or throw open the window and
hurl it down to the cold hard ground below, or take it out back, toss it on the
old charcoal grill and watch it go up in glorious flames. But, she knew she
would be sorry if she killed her laptop, because while it had been a rough day that hunk of gigabytes
and ram housed pieces of her heart and soul.
Link up your own NINETEEN story here. Check out past Five Sentence Fiction posts here.
What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction. Thanks to Steven at Stuck in my Own Mind for this week's word! This week’s inspiration word is: NINETEEN
I look forward to reading everyone's five sentences. Post your sentences on your blog, and link up your post below. Check out past Five Sentece Fiction posts here.
Write On Wednesdays Exercise 27 -Mel suggested that we look at the "12 Days
of Christmas" poem/song and select one of the days/lines for our writing
inspiration. So, whether a Partridge in a Pear Tree or Five Golden Rings, write
your line at the top of your page, set your timer for 5 minutes and write the
first words that come into your head.
Martinique watched the nine ladies dancing elegantly across
the polished hardwood floor. Her mouth curved into a smug smirk. She would soon
be the tenth. Poor Elizabeth, the former number ten, had fallen down an entire
flight of stairs last week, leaving her with multiple broken bones and not a
single chance of staying in the show.
Closing her eyes, breathing in the satisfaction, Martinique
smiled. No one saw who pushed Elizabeth down those stairs. It was such a dark
area. Must’ve been an accident, they all said. Martinique knew better. She knew
how to get what she wanted, so that’s what she’d done.
“Ah, Martinique,” the rail thin instructor said, tapping his
fingers together in front of his face. “So happy to have you. You’ve quite
graceful shoes to fill. Come on, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Martinique fought the grimace trembling behind her lips. She
wanted to spit in the man’s face. How dare he treat her like some green, off
the street, dancer? Pushing down the burst of red fury behind her eyes, she
lifted her chin and headed out onto the floor.
First she sprung into her classic chasse, that led to a flurry of perfectly pointed toes as
she executed a flawless sous sous.
She ended with particularly difficult grand
jete, which she nailed. Slowly letting her arms fall from above her head,
she kept her eyes focused triumphantly on the doubting man.
“Is that what you had in mind?” she questioned.
He snapped his fingers at the other nine dancers, who had
pressed in a line against the wall to watch her performance. “Okay, break time
is up, let’s get started.”
She fumed. He didn’t so much as nod at her work. As she took
her position in line, she pondered the ways to make him pay for his disrespect.
Ever get to that place in the novel writing adventure where
it’s all you think about, but writing is still difficult? I’m so there.
My dog gets my frustration!
I am still working on my NaNo novel. It is a story I love,
full of characters I want to be friends with, but I still have a hard time
getting the words out. Sometimes, I want to start back at the beginning and
edit, edit, edit. Other times, I think I should continue writing and edit
The story is always on my mind. I don’t have the slightest
problem thinking of things that I want to happen, things I want to tweak, or
characters that need a little something extra. The story plays alive and well
across my mind; everything is magic and harmonious in my head, but as soon as I
sit down to get all of it down the creative factory closes, an iron door falls
shutting in everything I wanted to say. It’s the strangest case of writer’s
block I’ve ever encountered.
Sometimes I think the pressure I feel to write perfectly,
self-inflicted pressure of course, harms my writing more than anything else. I want
the words to flow as beautifully on paper as they do in my mind. So, when I sit
down to write I fear I won’t live up to my own expectations. It’s a constant
battle between me, myself, and I.
How do you get past this?
On a happier note, an amazing writer has started a blog!
Check out Steven’s blog. He basically kicked NaNoWriMo rear, and is still going
strong. Also, if you’re up for #wordmongering on Twitter, he is around for
motivation. Just try and keep up with his 30 minute words counts. I dare you!
Find him on Twitter: @ashviper
They are the gumdrops and lollypops in our day. The sweet
things, whispered late at night that no one knows but us. Separated in a crowded
room, it's the single shared glance that is an entire conversation.
It’s the worn spot under the weeping willow where we sit on
What it’s all about: Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.
This week’s inspiration word is: SECRETS
I look forward to reading everyone's five sentences. Post your sentences on your blog, and link up your post below.
Write On Wednesdays Exercise 26 - Look at
the photo at the top of this post. What does it inspire in you? Set your timer
for 5 minutes. With the photo in mind, write the first words that come into your
head until the buzzer rings. If you aren't a visual person, you could try
lighting a few candles and writing by candlelight. Different sensory experiences
can be useful for inspiring creative writing so please play around to make the
prompt suit your writing needs. If you do try writing by candlelight, let us
know. I'd love to know how it works for you!
A hand curved carefully around the tiny flame, providing
shelter from the storm. Lost between here and there, desperate to remain. She walked
past angry faces, shadows carved from crippled branches dipping and swaying in
a devilish dance.
Once, twice the light threatened to die.
The only beacon, she willed it to burn on through the storm.
Stronger than the curved hand. Stronger than the beating heart. Her anxiety
grew as she felt the slipping of sand through the hour glass like boulders
falling from a steep incline, barreling towards expiration.
It was like that here.
Where no light was found, but for the faint spark on a dying
candle stick. But there was hope. Hope that sparks became flames and flames
became life. She glanced down at the flickering orange oval that was her future.
Her mission was not an easy one, but she’d give her life readily to protect the
radiance it promised.
Not a fleeting thing. But, a pulse growing stronger, steadier.
Her mouth lifted at the slight brightening of the light, as
though it understood their mission. Together they would set the fire of life to
this dead place.