Hacking the Hacks

This morning I learned about a “Hackathon” short story contest by Owl Canyon (details here) and the premise is unlike any other writing contest I’ve ever seen: they provide the first paragraph and the last, and it’s your task to complete the story with exactly eighteen intermediate paragraphs of at least fifty words each.

Naturally, I’m gonna try my hand at it–and because they also allow multiple submissions, I thought it would provide an excellent opportunity to do something daring.

I’m going to write multiple stories–and each of them will have a different genre.

So, to get started, I thought I’d take some time to dive deep into the writing “prompts” and brainstorm some ways I can tackle it from such different perspectives.

make/100

It’s been a good while (like, I don’t know, five whole months) since I’ve shared anything here, and when I created this second branch of the Writingwolf a few years back, I never imagined I’d ever let so much time go by without sharing a single poem or short story.

Of course, I also hadn’t anticipated how time consuming being a full-time teacher and a full-time grad student would be, so the absence is, at least, somewhat understandable.

This year I want to break that silence and share more poetry, more prose, and perhaps even more art than ever before. To help me reach this goal, I’ve started a Kickstarter to create 100 handwritten postcards of poetry, prose, and art inspired by every backer.

And then, after I’ve mailed them all, I’ll begin sharing them here, to spread the joy of reading even further than that first group of 100.

More importantly, it’s an exciting way for me to connect with my readers and make something unique and special while doing it.

Please consider backing today and sharing the project with others.

make/100 Handwritten Poetry and Prose

A Walk in the Woods

Inspired by this article.

I’m in the midst of a bright forest, golden beams of sunlight falling through translucent green leaves. A breeze blows the scent of pine and fresh river water. I’m walking hand in hand with my fiance. We stumble across a small squirrel in the path, nibbling at an acorn. It looks up at us, its fur perfectly bristled and vibrant in the sunlight on the forest floor. For a moment our eyes meet, animal and man, and then with a squeak it rushes into the woods.

For a moment there is silence again and we keep walking, smiling as we go.

NaNo 2014: Story 7

I’ve fallen a little behind in posting my stories–so I’ll put this one here today, and another tomorrow. This one in particular came from an idea I had while riding the elevator to work one day. What happened if suddenly everyone on the elevator disappeared? It’s meant to be horror, but has a surreal ending. I like it.

Marley looked up at the ding of the elevator arriving and then watched as the door rolled back and a small crowd of people came out. There were two or three others waiting around, and as they filed into the elevator, Marley went with them.

She stepped back and watched the door swing shut. She was trapped there. The door shook as it fell into place and Marley looked up. There was her reflection, facing her, smiling at her from the other side of the glass. It waved to her, though Marley kept her hands at her sides, and then it walked away; Marley saw her reflection on the door a moment longer before it vanished.

Inspire my next story by clicking here.

NaNo 2014: Story 6

I loved writing this next story–it brought together so many different ideas I’ve had (and begged for a sequel in each case) while further defining vague notions I’ve been thinking about for maybe a decade. Not to mention, some parts of it had me rolling with laughter as I wrote it. All this from a simple prompt: Cordelia, an airport, and a vintage carpet bag.

But looking at it now, the beginning’s a little choppy, and the end is pretty rough (this excerpt is actually a few paragraphs further up the last page), but like I said, this story begs for a sequel, so it didn’t exactly end easily. Why don’t you tell me what you think?

Cordelia turned precariously between en elderly woman on the right and a slightly older gentleman on her left; she hoisted up her carpet bag to clear their heads (thankfully people tend to grow shorter at their apparent age) and then she dashed forward. She nearly ran into a stroller; as she skirted around it, tossing apologies toward the mother, she realized it was merely a ghost walking with its kin and she cursed herself for losing time not running straight through them. Yes, it wasn’t considered high etiquette, but most ghosts had come to live with the expectation someone would walk through them sooner or later.

The curator reached around to the jewels, scanned them a moment, and then pulled out the flint, the cloudy-white one. He gripped it in his hand, said a word Cordelia had never heard before, and suddenly the jewel was overcome with light that burst from his hand and formed a shining dagger of radiance. “The Blade of Righteous Justice,” he said, then opened his hand and watched as the light withdrew into the stone. He placed the flint back in the case and crossed his arms. “This is a national emergency, Cordelia. We must recover those stones at all costs.”

Inspire my next story by clicking here.