Glass jar of tadpoles
Wriggling and writhing
Curiosity’s metamorphosis
Into nomenclature and sequence
Losing the art of play
Sometimes prose is limiting, even more limited by 140 characters, but poetry can open up the ideas with fewer words and more imagery. I began this as a Very Short Story on twitter but modified it to a poem to get my idea across.
Posted in Ars Poetica, Short Stories
Tagged creativity, fiction, flash fiction, life in general, micro-fiction, microfiction, micropoetry, poetry
This evening a friend who is participating in National Novel Writing Month asked for some prompts to help them along while writing today.
Someone wrote this: “Mismatched buttons sliding around the bottom of the underwear drawer.”
My mother used to have a plastic ice cream container of buttons. I have no idea where they all came from; I assume years of extraneous buttons collected from clothes or the bottom of the washing machine.
It sparked this piece of twitter fiction:
He scooped a handful of mismatched buttons & let them scatter on the table into a random alphabet of hand-me-downs, wishing for his own.
Posted in Creativity, Short Stories
Tagged buttons, creativity, fiction, flash fiction, life in general, micro-fiction, microfiction, slice of life, writers, writing
Today I had a little splurge on writing very short stories on twitter. I’ve compiled them here for your perusal, with a little refinement. (Must return to writing my novella.)
I.
He held the dandelion in his pudgy hand.
“I am the destroyer of worlds,” he said, then blew.
A hundred worlds took flight in genesis.
II.
She watched the rain speak in the puddles; the geometric voice of Gallifrey she saw on tv, retreated into her mind to explore time & space.
III.
The inhabitants of Kelvinator measured their daily cycle by the light’s sporadic flashes. They cursed their gods when the light failed.
IV.
The telephone wires paralleled his pace with the road; watching the cables looping from post to post, connecting the lover and the loved as a physical symbol.
Which is your favourite? Write one of your own in the comments.
Posted in Short Stories
Tagged creativity, fiction, flash fiction, life in general, micro-fiction, microfiction, slice of life, writers, writing
Behind her the argument continued as she watched two rain drops run parallel down the window, merged, then broke apart again.
Posted in Creativity, Short Stories
Tagged creativity, flash fiction, life in general, micro-fiction, microfiction, relationships, slice of life, twitfic, writers, writing
He lay his head on his arm, ear against the watch, listening to the soft clicking of the mechanism and counted until the monsters left.
Posted in The Writer's Life
Tagged creativity, fiction, fiction friday, flash fiction, slice of life, very short story, writers, writing
Friday Flash
He pulled into the car park as dusk gathered her skirts and rustled them like autumn leaves around the gutters and across the playground.
With the keys removed from the ignition the radio ceased its duet with the engine. The keys jingled quietly until muted in his palm.
The staccato squeak of swings and the arpeggio laughter of two toddlers formed the opening prelude as he walked to the boot of the car.
In the open the boot he rigged a music stand, attached a light and pegged down the music before opening the case and taking out his violin.
Cradling the violin under his chin he plucked the strings to tune midst an abrasive chorus of screeching lorikeets roosting.
He rested the bow against the strings, pausing to listen to the sounds surrounding him. A smile formed on his lips as he added his own song.
His song finished as the orange and red blended into velvet blue. The lorikeets were silent and the swings had ceased their metronomic pulse.
The toddlers stood hand-in-hand, eyes focused on the violin. He bowed and they ran back to their mothers. The music echoed in their footsteps.
Posted in Short Stories
Tagged creativity, fiction, flash fiction, Friday flash, microfiction, music, slice of life, symphony, twit fic, twitfic, writers, writing
Friday Flash 19 July, 2013
I.
He opened the notebook, the creak of cracking cardboard a writer’s melody.
“I see you have yourself a reliquary,” said Grandfather.
“Amen.”
II.
Proofs of holy writ, held within the ink of the pen, waited for the opening incantation. He paused and found no words. Was he a heretic?
III.
The first words were important and they rushed from the pen; not so much writing as scribbling random thoughts in search of a repository.
IV.
Shuffled sheets in a lectionary of unrequited (or unsent) love letters, parables of adolescent anxiety and beatitudes of pop song lyricists,
V.
Scratched sonnets and ambling discourses with a hip-hop feel competed for space between the lines. An epistolary apocryphal gospel at best.
VI.
He rested the pen between the pages in the crook of the hymnal’s spine, a genuflection, as the last sentence dried in the valley’s shadows.
VII.
As the cover of the notebook closed it murmured, sighed through paper exhalations, as one who held their breath waiting for the benediction.
Posted in Short Stories
Tagged creativity, experimental, fiction, flash fiction, Friday flash, metaphor, reliquary, short story, slice of life, twitfic, writers, writing
Decades away from a colouring book, he paused the pencil above the page’s lines of demarcation. He questioned: inside the lines or out?
In the light of last week’s post, Colouring Outside the Lines, I wrote this piece of twitfic.
How would you tell a story about learning something new? Write it in the comments.
Posted in Creativity, Short Stories
Tagged colouring in, creativity, fiction, flash fiction, lines, microfiction, short story, slice of life, writers, writing
Posted in Ars Poetica, Creativity, Short Stories
Tagged creativity, experimental, fiction, flash fiction, short story, slice of life, very short story, writers, writing
I peer between the fractured fingers of the old paling fence, the common connection of our backyards. The weathered wood splays out with lichen fingernails and mossy knuckles.
Putting my foot on the bottom rail I push up. I can just loop my fingers over the top and my lips move closer to the splintered wood, riddled with deepening cracks of age and ants in their travels. I hear it creak as it takes my added weight. The fence bears it like I’m in my father’s arms, leaning against the strain.
I imagine your hair smells like the jasmine and the wisteria crowning the fence; tangled threads and strands of green shot through with sprigs of white flowers and clusters of purple reminding me of grapes.
I peer into your backyard catching slatted snippets of sight. Squinting one eye I can see the clothesline turning slowly in the breeze. And I wonder which t-shirt belongs to you; there is a new one on the line I don’t recognise. Maybe you have some new undies too. Mum bought me Superman undies and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle ones.
There’s your bike leaning against the house. And you’re riding without training wheels now.
The fence is biting into my fingers and I let go, dropping back to the grass. But I look through the slatted wall again, my nose pressed into the fence. Your back door opens and I run back to mine afraid you might see me.
I wonder if you sometimes look into my backyard.
Posted in Short Stories
Tagged childhood, children, creativity, experimental, fiction, flash fiction, Friday flash, growing up, slice of life, writers, writing
I am an English teacher and drummer/percussionist with an interest in literary pursuits, creative endeavours, rhythmic permutations, theological amplifications and comedic outbursts.
Here you will find my creative detritus: articles on living a creative life and writing explorations.
And other ideas I have snaffled from the papers stuck on the fridge door.
Twitter: @RevHappiness
Instagram: @handwrittenpages
My collaborative epistolary novel, "Post Marked: Piper's Reach," written with Jodi Cleghorn (@JodiCleghorn) out now via Vine Leaves Press.
Come and browse through the library; there is no need to be silent.
A Fullness in Brevity - Adam Byatt