Short Story: Death Ate My French Fries

Its bony fingers hovered over the crispy potato strips. "May I?" 

        

I nodded absently and replied, "Help yourself,” as I waved my hand towards the plate, giving permission.

Short Story: Help

Here's a short story I wrote in the spirit of Halloween. It was originally done for my Creative Skills Development class. The idea was to take something typically considered innocent and turn it into the evil main character of a scary story. Constructive criticism is welcomed! The story is behind the cut...

Short Story: Grandpa

Grandpa 
“Let her wear it,” my grandmother says wearily. “Someone should get some use out of it now.”

Without saying a word my mother pulls the nightshirt over my head. It’s far too big for a five year old, but I want to wear it. It’s my grandfather’s nightshirt. My mother moves to the bed and starts to pull the blankets back.

Poem: Marshmallow

Marshmallow

I sit and watch the embers float by
On a warm summer breeze, tinged
With the pungent, acrid, scent of smoke, freshly cut grass,
Charred hot dogs, and wet swimsuits.
A leaf rimmed with fire catches
My eye. It mesmerizes me. I follow its meandering path
As an updraft lazily lifts it
To the sky. Yellow and orange dance seductively,
Flickering and leaping (clumsy, graceless)
Across its dried face. Peals of
Laughter ripple through the air
Mingling with excited shrieks and whoops,
Drowning out the snap, crackle, and roar
Of the raging fire
Before me. A loud popping snap
Brings me back to
My current adventure.
I pick up a stick and
Strip off the soft, papery, bark.
Impaling a marshmallow (Stupid, silly, girl!)
On its point, I walk towards
The clubhouse. The chain
Looped through the
 Door’s handles glimmers in the firelight.
A twig snaps under my
Foot alerting them to my presence outside.
They bang on the door
Making the chain rattle. They move from
Frantic begging to pleading to
Threatening to crying to silence.
A siren wails in the
Distance as I extend my marshmallow
Laden stick towards the (giggling, pointing)
Hungry, eager, flames devouring the clubhouse.
They should not have laughed at me.

Short Story: Jack

This is a hint fiction story. If you're unaware of what hint fiction is, it is a story of 25 or fewer words that hints at a bigger, more complex story. This type of story is not easy to write because a ton of information has to be packed into very few words. My attempt at hint fiction:

Jack

“Would you like some company tonight, guv'nor?” she inquired. He offered his arm, “I certainly would, luv.” He smiled, his next victim acquired.

Short Story: Invisible Beasties (A Branching Dialogue)

This is a branching dialogue I wrote as an assignment for my Full Sail University Storytelling class. I'm sharing it here because I'd love to write for games and being able to write branching dialogue is an important part of that. As usual it's a snippet of a larger story that has yet to be completely written.

Short Story: Melisande

Melisande was suddenly and very lucidly awake and had no idea why. She lay very still, listening intently, for whatever it was that had intruded upon her sleep. She did not open her eyes or change her breathing for fear that she would give away where she was hiding.

Short Story: The Laundry

Here's a short story I wrote as a Masterwork for my Creative Skills Development class at Full Sail. I rather enjoyed this assignment as the characters took on a life of their own and the story pretty much wrote itself. Enjoy it after the cut...

Short Story: Today Sucked

Here's a short story I wrote that consists of dialogue only. It was challenging in that actions had to be conveyed through dialogue or dialogue tags without the tags becoming repetitive. As always, constructive criticism is welcome. Story after the cut...

Short Story: Finally

This is a short story I wrote based on real events described in a news article. I find it interesting how everyday news (or not so everyday news such as this article) can become a writing prompt.

Short Story: The Charity Bin (A Short Script)

This story is my first attempt at writing in script format. It's very elementary and I definitely need more practice. Constructive criticism is always appreciated as I would like to refine my script writing skills.

Short Story: I Do

This is a short story that draws from my personal experiences. While it is very loosely based on my wedding I did take liberties. Enjoy the story behind the cut...

Short Story: Chocolate Boogers

Chocolate Boogers

Ian quickly grabs Liam’s hand and blows his nose onto it.

Liam jumps up and looks at his hand, now full of chocolate boogers. “Holy heck,” he says in disbelief. He looks wide-eyed at Ian, a huge grin spreading across his face. “The candy actually melted before Sam made the jump!”

They look at the chocolate boogers and remember the start of the afternoon…  

Post: Mental Flailings

So many ideas float around in my head that its hard to focus on one. If I'm finally able to focus on one and expand it, the expansion brings with it another avalanche of ideas. I swim through those and find the one tidbit I wanted, the one thread to pull. I pull it and the process starts again.

I'm struggling to corral all these ideas. So, I made a promise to myself a few days ago that I would write something, anything, every day. I was hoping it would help organize these ideas into a cohesive, usable format but it hasn't worked.

Why? The answer is simple. I start to write and the writing pulls the thread and more ideas tumble out. I end up on tangents that have nothing to do with my chosen subject. I try to find my way back to where I started only to find that I've lost that thread and am holding a completely new one. How does one organize, tame, such random mental flailings?

I'm considering stream of consciousness writing to see if that helps. I've avoided it for one simple reason, I cannot stand to read it. Faulkner makes my brain weep in frustration. Then again, there must be something to it as Kerouac and Thompson are legendary. I don't expect to become legendary but I would like to tame my ideas.

And yet, I'm hesitant. What's the worst thing that could happen? The worst thing that can happen is that I realize I not only can't read it but I can't write stream of consciousness either. On the other had, the best that can happen is that I tame my mental flailings and actually get some stories finished.

I need to stop hesitating.

Post: A Step to the Left

She clicks on the link and reads the blog post. It gushes about how another writer shows promise, is going places. No one gushes about her work that way. No one even notices when she publishes something. Well, except that one lonely cheerleader who tells her that her writing doesn’t suck.

She thinks someone paid that one cheerleader off.

She realizes that she is nothing special. Her work is mediocre and not likely to stand out in the crowd. And it is a crowd. Every one of her classmates turned from peer to competition as soon as the degree was conferred.

Chin up, people tell her. Nose to the grindstone. Keep hacking away and one day you’ll see some fruits from all that labor.

She does. She sees nothing. She is patient. She writes, submits, and writes more but nothing. No rejection but no acceptance either. She feels that she is yelling into a void. Making any type of progress seems like a Sisyphean task.

Perhaps her passion lies elsewhere. She loves stories, loves telling them. But there is something that she loves more, something that pervades her very being. A passion that has burned bright since her earliest memories.

History.

American, British, European, and Scandinavian history. And not just history but the stories that history tells. The myths, legends, superstitions, and folklore.  How these stories sprang from every-day events and were exaggerated into folklore, and then blown up into myth.  From fireside tales of the psycho with a hook coming to get the hapless campers, to internet-born Slenderman, to Irish Halloween origin tales of Stingy Jack, they all fascinate her.

She’s on the wrong path. That is why the blog post discouraged her. She sees her path now. It’s a little to the left of the one she’s on.

She takes a step to the left.