Friday Fictioneers: 8/30

This weeks photo prompt was taken by the very talented Stacey Plowright. Isn't it pretty.

                Cara pressed her nose against the window pane, not even noticing the cold as she stared up at the sky. Several layers of clouds hung there, like a layer cake made of stone. Anna, her sister, shot her a look.

                “Will we,” Anna whispered.

                “I hope so.”

                “When will we know?”

                Cara shrugged. “I dunno, couple hours maybe.”

                Anna bit her lip. “I’ve got a math test tomorrow.”

                Cara bounced up and down in delight. “That’s it!”

                Anna stared at her, puzzled.

                “If you study for the test and I actually do my homework, we’re bound to have a snow day tomorrow.”

For those of you who might be new to the whole Friday Fictioneers thing, this is how it works.

1. Madison Woods provides a photo prompt.

2. Using the prompt, a group of writers each produces a 100(ish) word story and posts it on their blog.

3.  A blog hop kicks off, with writers commenting on each other's contribution.

4. It starts all over again the following week!

5. Links to this week's stories can be found right here. You should check them out.

Six Sentence Sunday:Fools and Runts 16

I'll confess. This is favorite six sentence snippet that I've posted, and one of the few times I've tried writing comedy and felt that it worked the way I wanted it to. Grace spent the last two Sunday's falling, this Sunday she discovers why. Also, in a clip that I haven't posted, she and Luke discuss her attire which isn't exactly appropriate for farm use.

There's some amazing and talented writers participating in this week's Six Sentence Sunday, you should check out the official list.

“My skirt, that doesn’t make any sense, I never trip over my ...” the words run dry in my throat as I glance at my legs.

My tennis shoes, considerably dirtier then they had been when I left the house are still on my feet, but the only thing that stretched between them and my low-ride, lime green bikini panties is a lot of pale bare skin. Too dismayed to register any embarrassment just yet, I glance up at Luke who looks about ready to explode with laughter.

            He points to the pigs who grunt and squeal as the use my skirt to play a lively game of tug-of-war. “The piglet you befriended was chewing on the bottom, and when you took a step it kind of snagged around your ankles, tripping you. As you fell, she spooked and ran, but didn’t let go and the skirt just kind of slipped off.”

I should  probably mention that Grace favors long peasant skirts with an elastic waist. 

Friday Fictioneers: 8/24/12

I wasn’t going to participate this week, but Maggie Duncan's picture prompt was so pretty I just had to write something. It’s not exactly a short story, but I think it’s a pretty piece. To read some really impressive bits of micro-fiction check out the official list of this week’s participants.

The fog stole his breath. It was amazing how it could turn something as mundane as the sheep pasture into a place that felt like the setting for a fairytale. He drank it in, letting the beauty consume him until a faint sound captured his attention. Nerves skittered and his stomach churned as he picked up the musket he’d propped against the trunk of the Maple tree. He was aware of his comrades moving to stand by his side, their eyes straining to see what was coming towards them. He raised his hand, soundlessly singling them to charge, to meet their attackers, and wondered how many foggy mornings he had in his future.

Six Sentence Sunday: Fools and Runts 15

I had a great time reading the comments everyone left last Sunday. Thanks! This weeks six sentence snippet picks up right where last week's left off.  Thanks for stopping by. More great six sentence snippets can be found here. 

I’m barely able to get my hands out in front of me before landing on all fours which while humiliating, isn’t nearly as bad as face planting would have been.

            “Grace,” Luke voice is close, much closer than when he’d originally yelled.

I know I should move, that I should sit up and assess the damage, but I’m afraid to look. I didn't know which would be worse: looking and finding that my hands and knees are fine, or seeing them  shredded beyond recognition which is what they feel like.

            “Grace,” Luke’s fingers brush along the length of my spine, “are you okay? Did you break anything?” He slips a hand under my face, tipping my chin until I’m staring directly into a pair of concerned hazel eyes.

Write for Ten-Vulnerable

I’m running behind on my Camp NANOWRIMO manuscript. Not dangerously behind, I have about 13,000 words and will be able to catch up, but I don’t want to get further behind. I’d really like to get caught up this weekend.  One of the ways I’m doing this is by actually using the Write for 10 writing prompts. This is a website that provides a prompt and encourages people to use the prompt to write for 10 minutes flat. The subject and the quality of the writing doesn’t matter, the only thing you have to worry about is getting the words down. 

The writing prompt on Tuesday was the word vulnerable. I took the word, grabbed the two main characters from Wishing For … and let ‘er rip. I’m quite pleased with the snippet I got, and managed to add 300 hundred words to my word count.

His fingers stroked along the side of my cheek and he stared deeply into my eyes, his gaze so intense so steady, it felt like he was able to see directly into my soul. He leaned forward and brushed his lips across my forehead. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice so low I barely heard it. That didn’t stop the pain from slashing through me.

                It wasn’t the first time I’d heard the words. A couple of the guys I’d dated had said the same thing from time to time. The difference between now and then was that I always knew the reason behind their declaration. They usually wanted to get me naked and horizontal, or I already was.

                Cooper’s different. He was too good, too honest, to try using such a declaration as an attempt to get into my pants. I knew him well enough to know that if the only thing he wanted was sex, he’d say so. That’s just the kind of guy he is.

I closed my eyes and swallow. Why was he doing to too me right now.

                He loved me. Looking at him, feeling his touch, I knew he spoke the truth, or at least what he believed to be the truth. Right here, in this moment, he loved me. What really disturbed me was the way he wasn’t afraid to tell me, how he could willingly leave himself vulnerable to rejection.

                I wondered what would happen if I turned away, if I left him standing there with his heart in his hands and love in his eyes.  I wondered if I was really cold-blooded and bitchy enough to do such a thing to him.

                This would be so much easier if the only thing he wanted was to get inside my pants.

Six Sentance Sunday: fools and runts 14

Thanks for taking the time to read and help out with the snippets I keep posting every week. You've all been an amazing help. This week I had to use some creative whittling to make this snippet come to the correct word count. Thanks so much!

For those finding my blog for the first time, this is a clip from DWARFED, my YA manuscript featuring an adorable farm boy, Luke, and a high spirited, fun loving girl with dwarfism.

My phone vibrates, a text from Maggie about dinner, saves me from having to think of an response. “I have to go.”

“Uh, Grace.”                                       

            “Not now,” I tell him, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

            “Grace, you might want to ...”

I take a step, a single step and my skirt jerks tight around my ankles, yanking my feet out from under me, and I plummet, face first, towards the nursery crate floor. 

Take the time to check out other six sentence Sunday participants at http://www.sixsunday.com/

Friday Fictioneers: 8/10/12

                                                                         

  

Wow, trying to write a complete micro-fiction story and make it work into my Camp Nanowrimo novel is really tough.

I love the beauty of photo prompt supplied by Susan Wenzel via Madison Woods. It's a stunning shot. 

Broken                              

I appreciate the irony.                                                                             

After all of my various self-destructive stunts, a clam shell was going to get the job done. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry, if I’d grabbed my shoes, if  I’d looked where I was stepping, the broken shell would not have mangled the bottom of my foot. Blood surges from the gash, uniting with mud and bits of road gravel, sapping my strength, making my movements sluggish.

I stumble, falling to my knees.  All I can think about is the words I’ve left unspoken.

Six Sentence Sunday: Fools and Runts 13

I can always tell it's Sunday because for some reason, that's the day my internet starts acting wonky. 

I jumped ahead a few sentences, but this weeks six sentence snippet is still from the same scene of my YA WIP, DWARFED. 

Thank you so much for your great comments week after week, they've really helped me grow and develop as a writer. 

More great snippets from participating writers can be found at the offical website.

                Luke’s hazel eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry Grace, I know you don’t want to hear this, but the odds aren’t in that piglet’s favor, you shouldn’t get attached, at least not until we know if it has any health problems besides being smaller than its mates.”

                Looking down at the piglet nestled on my lap, I can’t stop the memory of the hushed way my parent’s talk about the breathing issues I had as a baby, the couple of surgeries I’d had when I was younger, and the very real possibility that I was going to need more work done in the future, something I wasn’t looking forward to. The last time I’d been in the hospital, I’d met another dwarf, a boy a couple of years younger than me, who’d already been through nearly twenty extensive surgeries. Considering how much work it took a team of really well trained medical professionals to keep us, just two dwarfs alive and healthy, Luke’s concern kind of made sense.

                But that didn’t mean I had to like it.

Friday Fictioneer: 8/3/12

I'm participating in Camp NANOWRIMO this month, and I'm challenging myself to use Madison's photo prompts to build on my project. Hopefully it works.

This week's FF piece came in at 131 words, longer than I wanted, but I cut it from the original 172 and felt that removing more would fracture the story. 

The photo prompt provided by Madison wood is a bleeding grape vine. 

Thanks for stopping by. Any and all comments criticisms are always appreciated and given a great deal of consideration. Thanks again!

Thief

Cara grinned, showing the scrapes of grape skins caught on her teeth. “Look Keagen. They’re everywhere.”

                She liberated another grape from the vine. “You’re going to get sick if you eat too many.” I warned before moving to the shade of a Maple tree to wait out her grazing.  No sooner had I settled against the trunk, when Cara screamed.  

                I scooped her up. Her arms locked around my neck as the blood drained from my face and a scream clawed at my throat. Globs of puss dripped from the grapevines, falling to the ground in what looked like a melted pile of rotting brain tissue.

                A lanky boy stepped around the end of the vine, studying us as a slow smile spread across his face.

                “Good,” he said “more thieves.”

Now that you've read my piece, you need to check out some awe-insipiring writers also participating in this week's Friday Fictioneers. They can be found right here.

Day 1 of Camp NaNoWriMo-What I'm writing

Camp NanoWrimo started today and I’m planning on participating. I’ve been looking forward to this month because an idea for a story has been niggling at me. The last time that happened was when I was starting to think about DWARFED. 

The difference between this as yet untitled and DWARFED is that other than the basic ideas and a couple mental images of what the main characters look like, I really don’t know much about this story. I’m writing by the seat of my pants and looking forward to seeing what adventures lay ahead. The lack of plot simply means endless possibilities.

The inspiration behind this story is a couple of different bits of micro-fiction I wrote earlier this month. One about an abandonedbuilding we explored during a trip to Indiana. The other about a bird that makes daily pilgrimage to a cemetery. 

I’m also planning on borrowing heavily from Elton John’s Levon while writing. I don't understand the exact meaning behind some of the lyrics, but I love the song's simple beauty.