Category Archives: Prompts

The Miller’s Turn

January 4, 2017
PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

They say he milled diamonds from stone, but I never saw it. The river had run dry for an age by the time I came upon the mill.

The old woman stood in the doorway, one gnarled hand blooming atop her cane. She nodded at the thing. “It’s yours now.”

I moved closer, ran one hand along the beam, the wood worn to a sinew of grain, the stone beneath it polished smooth. I looked back at her. “I can’t see getting a diamond from that.”

She laughed, crackling and smoky. “And you won’t, son. Not unless you turn.”

—

99 words

This has been an edition of the Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the gracious and talented Rochelle. This week’s photo courtesy the amazing Sandra Crook. To read more flash fiction inspired by the prompt, or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button:

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She Left Edinburgh a Widow

December 31, 2016

2016-12-26

No one could say what happened at the flat on Giles. Not the neighbors who heard her sobs at night. Not the postman who saw the bruise at her throat. Not the boy in the flat below who felt the ceiling shake with the blows. Not the ladies who smelled the whiskey on his breath seven days a week as he staggered past their shop. Those days a man did what he pleased with his wife. People kept quiet.

And when that day came when he stumbled up drunk to the rooftop, past the locked gate and through the bolted door, and then managed to pitch head-first over the wall nearly as tall as he, well the people kept quiet about that too.

She left Edinburgh a widow.

—

128 words.

This has been an edition of What Pegman Saw, a flash fiction prompt inspired by Google Maps. To read more flash fiction inspired by a tour of the location prompt or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button:

If you’re wondering where I got the inspiration, click on the photo prompt and look down. This was one of those crazy discoveries on Google Street view. For more, visit

80 funny, creepy, strange, disturbing Google Street View Images

I must confess I had a hard time with this one. I was ready to dispense of the thing with a five-word unpublished story, but my dear husband was having none of that.

I gotta quit killing off my characters.

PS If the inlinks code isn’t working, try copying and pasting this:

<a href="http://www.inlinkz.com/new/view.php?id=686669" rel="nofollow"><img src="https://www.inlinkz.com/img/wp/wpImg.png" /></a>

It Starts With a Breath

December 18, 2016
Sunday Photo Fiction

Sunday Photo Fiction

“That’s all there is to it. You take a deep breath and visualize.”

“I fail to see how visualizing will help.”

She leaned against her locker and looked up to meet his eyes. “Lots of people do it.”

“Lots of people visualize meeting girls?”

“Well maybe not that. But people use visualization all the time. Like athletes, and… people in the Oprah Book Club.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “What exactly am I supposed to visualize?”

“Visualize yourself being confident. Visualize the girl responding in a positive way.”

He stared at his feet and butted his toe against the baseboard. “You mean like girls actually speaking to me, and not running away screaming?”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Tyler. You’re a nice guy. Any girl would be lucky to go out with you.”

He went to speak but choked on the words. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath and tried again. “Any girl like you?”

—

This has been an edition of the Sunday Photo Fiction Prompt, hosted by the generous Al Forbes. To read more fiction or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button.


get the InLinkz code

 

Population 0

December 16, 2016
Bonaparte

Bonaparte

“These farm towns always have the best restaurants,” he’d said.

It had seemed like a refreshing break from the freeway. All she’d wanted back then was an open-face sandwich like her gran used to make. But so far, they hadn’t found so much as an open gas station. The gas gauge hung an eyelash over empty.

“Maybe we should ask for directions.”

His jaw thrust out.  “I’m not lost.”

“No, I know you’re not. It’s just that—hey look, an antique shop.”

“Thought you were hungry,” he said.

She was hungry to see another living soul. “Just park,” she said.

As she walked up the quiet street, under the sagging awnings, to peer in the filthy window of the vacant shop, she started to realize: there was no one to ask. She turned around and noticed the film of dust layered on all the parked cars. “Does something seem wrong to you?”

—

This has been an edition of What Pegman Saw, a new weekly 150-word fiction prompt based on Google Maps. To read more or to submit your own, click the froggy button:

 

You never see it coming

November 20, 2016

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It happens on a Sunday. You slept late and you’re just getting up, reaching for that first cup of coffee and then you see the flash reflected on the cabinets—and as you turn around, you’re trying to remember if there was supposed to be a storm—but then you hear a boom so loud and crack it’s the last thing you’ll never hear again and just then you feel the great and terrible wave of it bone-thrumming-through you, and every other living thing and dead and just as—

—

This has been an edition of the Sunday Photo Fiction Prompt, hosted by Al Forbes. To read more flash fiction or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button:

Now a confession: this was actually a piece I wrote over the summer while attending Anthony Varallo’s 500-Word Story workshop at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival. It was the first thing I thought of when I saw the prompt. The piece is a little experimental, what with the second person and the use of a run on sentence that turns into train of thought, but I was inspired after reading the many superior examples in Micro Fiction: An Anthology of Fifty Really Short Stories (a book I highly recommend for the flash fiction lover in your life).

Apologize for the rerun to anyone who reads my blog the person who reads my blog. I’m trying to limit my blogging time in order to finish my novel The Kwan Factor. I’ve got an editor lined up in early 2017 (the amazing Kelly Dwyer!) and need to wrap it up before the end of December. Much to do!

Anyway, all best my lovelies. Thanks for stopping by and have a cozy holiday season.

Do you remember that?

September 11, 2016

 toy soldiers

“Did you see on the news that a dozen soldiers stormed a school in Chibok?” I asked, but you hadn’t. And I told you about the war going on there, the massacres, and the families torn apart. I told you about the refugees, and how the boys are made to fight before they’re old enough to shave. And you said you hadn’t heard, but did I hear the Hawks beat State by thirty-nine points? And you said that it’s sad—but you find all that news depressing—and you just can’t live like that. And I said I hope we never have to.

—

This has been an edition of Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by Al Forbes. To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button:

 

Just a Skiff

August 25, 2016

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Georgia Koch

PHOTO PROMPT © Georgia Koch

 

He learned to crab before he learned to walk. Always told that story: him and his dad coming all the way back from Green Turtle in full gale on that skiff—him only ten and his pop drunk as a lobsterman’s payday.

Today the air was sinking fast, dropping clouds low on eastern skies.

“I’ll be home by high tide,” he’d said. But tide had come and gone, leaving a line of seagrass high on the beach dotted with strange-eyed fish.

“I was born on the water,” he always said.

He was going to die on it too, she realized.

—

This has been an edition of the Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff Fields. To read more stories or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button:

The Life and Love of a Fleet-footed Fuchsia Fairy

August 16, 2016
blooming fuchsia

blooming fuchsia

The life of a Fleet-footed Fuchsia Fairy was never easy, Herman reflected as he shook out his stamen wand and moved on to the next blossom.

You had to have patience, and an eye for detail. You had to be quick and stay out of sight of Unbelievers.

It was thankless too. For you had to open each and every flower in turn, even the blossoms that no eye would ever look upon. And he did too—for the hummingbirds. Well, for one particular hummingbird.

“Hi Mazie,” he said, blinking, for the light was behind her. Even so, she was every iridescent shade of forest and ocean and sky. She hovered for an instant and nodded appreciatively at the blossom he’d coaxed open just that morning.

“I thought you’d like that one,” he said. He realized he was blushing, so he flapped down to a lower branch, which had some new buds that needed tending. From there he could watch her.

She was so beautiful.

—

This has been an edition of the Sunday Photo Fiction Prompt, hosted by Al Forbes. To read more or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button:

 

Katrina and the Ann Street Players’ Last Gig

July 27, 2016
shopping cart in a parking lot lake

PHOTO PROMPT © Janet Webb

 

Last time I saw JT he was heading south on Dorgenois, with a case of beer on one shoulder.

“Where you headed?” I asked him.

“Me and some guys gonna ride it out down on Ann Street.”

“At Big Chief’s?”

He nodded. I could picture it: JT, Albert, Shorty…Big Chief on bass. All them guys, jamming louder than any hurricane. “You oughtta join us,” he said.

But Gran Marnier was all alone up in Goodbee, so’s I was headed up to board her windows and hit the grocery.

Never saw any a them again. Sometimes, I wish I’d stayed.

—

This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s photo courtesy Janet Webb.

To read more takes on the prompt, or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button:

get the InLinkz code

A Man, a Deer, and a Hairpin Turn in the Road

June 7, 2016

159-06-june-5th-2016

It’s not every day we have a chance to reinvent ourselves.

He jumped, as if the words had been spoken aloud, but there was no one. And nothing—nothing except the sharp curl of road, the overturned convertible and smoke belching out from the undercarriage in larger and larger clouds. How had he survived? He checked himself once more: a gash on his knee and a cut on his ear from when he’d flown free from the car. But aside from that, he was fine.

He studied the vast empty valley in all directions and realized no one would be by for hours. And damn, his car. No insurance, three payments behind. And then there was the matter of the forty-minute daily drive to the only job in three counties that would hire him. He was so fired.

And Sheila. What was that always she said? If you ever drink a drop and lay a hand on that wheel, don’t bother ever coming home.

The gas tank made an ominous thunk. He thought of the struggle of holding this wreckage of a life together. He could do so much better.

He should.

He turned, and started walking–off the road, and into the wild unknown.

—

This has been an edition of Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by Al Forbes. To read more or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button: