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
Stephen watched his father’s ritual from the breakfast table as his father kissed his mother goodbye as he left for work and said, “I love you.”
His father never left or entered the house without this mantra.
Stephen wondered what love really meant because he loved choc-chip ice cream and Adam Sandler films and his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures.
He had even considered giving Elizabeth Jenkins one of his coveted G.I. Joe figures because she smelled of strawberry lollies.
When he said, “I love you, Mum” it sounded different to his father’s repeated refrain.
Lying on the couch, her head bare from cancer’s indignity, she gave him one of her warm smiles and said, “I know you do, dear.”
“Here’s to a ten years of The Table of Knowledge,” said Dan as he slopped the first round of beers down. James reflected on the Table of Knowledge, the weekly symposium begun by six idealistic university undergraduates; they had been at the same table discussing the world’s problems and in some measure solving them. Their banter traversed stories of marriage and divorce, children and careers; their friendship now held together by alcoholic glue. The better part of a decade had been wiped away like dregs and James now saw five men discussing which female newsreader would look better naked. He was startled to think that in another ten years he could still be at the same table, telling the same stories, just like other patrons who inhabited the dark recesses of the pub. James put down his half finished beer and walked out into the night.
“Every sitcom, rom-com and chick-flick lied,” thought Peter.
There was no inappropriate breaking of the waters, frantic taxi rides or giving birth in the car park. No milling throng of family waiting for the proud father to emerge from the delivery suite like a prophet in scrubs announcing the good news that a son had been born. Instead, there was the interminable waiting of fourteen hours of labour, followed by a brief period of unspeakable profanities and finally, a delivery. Now there was the silence of a husband and wife cradled into each other with a small, wrinkly, slightly bemused-looking human being nuzzling into his mother’s breast.
Peter looked down at his son and muttered, “This is going to be harder than I thought.”
Posted in Short Stories
Tagged fiction, flash fiction, micro-fiction, short story, story
The crease and crinkle of paper caught Dave’s ear as he walked passed his bedroom. Looking around the door he saw his son crouched on the far side of the bed.
“What are you looking at?” he asked as he came around to see.
Spread out between in front of James was the curvature of breasts and buttocks and a finely manicured lawn with the staple as her bellybutton ornament. Dave stood and rehearsed the reprimand forming in his head, but was interrupted.
“Do you wish that Mum looked like this?”
Posted in Short Stories
Tagged fiction, flash fiction, micro-fiction, short story, story
She picked up the silver-framed photograph of a woman nursing a newborn baby. In the photo her arms were wrapped like a wall, protective and sheltering. She remembered the woman she was then and the intense possessiveness she had felt. A selfishness that drank like the child at her breast; even wanting to withhold the child from its father.
“Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone,” she murmured.
She waited for that sensation again as she packed the photograph into her luggage, waiting for the taxi, hoping the grit would become a pearl.
Posted in Short Stories
Tagged fiction, flash fiction, micro-fiction, short story, story
The kitchen tap dripped unceasingly and most of the cupboards hung at jaunty angles. Her friends were busy salivating over Jamie Oliver or pursuing the latest project from Better Homes and Garden, but she didn’t see the need in creating a mausoleum of monotony. For her there was always something else to do, something else that was a priority on a timetable that ran perpendicular to everyone else’s. She saw no sense in waiting. Waiting was a weakness. Quickly she rinsed her bowl, spoon and mug before putting them on the dish rack to dry and headed out the door.
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