Ashelynn Sanford is hosting the Friday 56- one of those things. You know. Those things. Take the nearest book to you, open it to page 56, and type in the fifth sentence. (Along with a couple more to provide context, if necessary.)
Mine comes from Alan Moore's "V for Vendetta".
"'Listen.'
'You can call me Y. The Lord is my shepherd: therefore I can lack nothing: He shall feed me in green pasture and lead me forth beside the waters of comfort.'"
Friday, March 04, 2011
Flashing (and Not Drinking) On Friday
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
From The Reject Pile: The 12th Round
Another mediocre jump shot slapped back into my face, a 250 word story on the theme "Another World". The story, "The 12th Round", follows here:
Your children are like you, only they're not. They are fun house versions of you, with some of your features: your nose, her eyes, your impatience, her vanity. They are precious, but also draining, sucking away your vital energies into a sinkhole of need that changes as the years go on, but never ends.
When the Ds started coming home, they raged at her, ferocious clashes that left all three of them retreating to corners of their house like exhausted boxers. They took away privileges, they withdrew access, they made her life monastic- school, home, work, food, bed. Repeat. Nothing worked. The flood of poor grades continued.
I looked down at her, sleeping, finally, after another tear stained, dispute filled evening. She made him confront every insecurity he had about himself- every unsure step professionally, every poor purchase and unwise investment now a silent rebuke. How could he purport to advise her, when he couldn't manage his own life?
He knew her universe was different- while the Internet exploded as a phenomenon for him as a young adult, she had been born into it, swimming in seas of data since she could walk. Maybe his formulas- go to school, learn, work hard, get a good job- didn't work in the new coordinate system she lived in. He didn't know what she needed, and she proved to him daily how little he understood about her, and indeed about anything at all.
Your children are like you, only they're not. They are fun house versions of you, with some of your features: your nose, her eyes, your impatience, her vanity. They are precious, but also draining, sucking away your vital energies into a sinkhole of need that changes as the years go on, but never ends.
When the Ds started coming home, they raged at her, ferocious clashes that left all three of them retreating to corners of their house like exhausted boxers. They took away privileges, they withdrew access, they made her life monastic- school, home, work, food, bed. Repeat. Nothing worked. The flood of poor grades continued.
I looked down at her, sleeping, finally, after another tear stained, dispute filled evening. She made him confront every insecurity he had about himself- every unsure step professionally, every poor purchase and unwise investment now a silent rebuke. How could he purport to advise her, when he couldn't manage his own life?
He knew her universe was different- while the Internet exploded as a phenomenon for him as a young adult, she had been born into it, swimming in seas of data since she could walk. Maybe his formulas- go to school, learn, work hard, get a good job- didn't work in the new coordinate system she lived in. He didn't know what she needed, and she proved to him daily how little he understood about her, and indeed about anything at all.
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
100 Word Challenge: Blind Date
Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge is long off the tee, has a very strong short game, and can putt like nobody's business. The word this week is "gratuitous", and my story is called "Blind Date". As always, feel free to complete the challenge on your own blog and plug your link in right here:
And now, "Blind Date":
She was beautiful- long showers of black hair that shimmered when she moved her head, wide brown eyes that focused on you with a pleasurable warmth, and a body that suited a cocktail dress perfectly. I finally thought my pal Eric had sent me on a blind date with a winner when she said, as we got up to leave the restaurant, "Aren't you going to leave a gratuitous?"
I looked at her blankly.
"You know, a tip?"
"Thanks for reminding me," I said affably, sliding two tens onto the table. Looks aren't everything, I thought, chuckling silently.
And now, "Blind Date":
She was beautiful- long showers of black hair that shimmered when she moved her head, wide brown eyes that focused on you with a pleasurable warmth, and a body that suited a cocktail dress perfectly. I finally thought my pal Eric had sent me on a blind date with a winner when she said, as we got up to leave the restaurant, "Aren't you going to leave a gratuitous?"
I looked at her blankly.
"You know, a tip?"
"Thanks for reminding me," I said affably, sliding two tens onto the table. Looks aren't everything, I thought, chuckling silently.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)