NaNoWriMo Has Nothing On Us!

Yes, we’ve been having a good time seeing what comes out of each of these challenges.  But, on the other hand, we are not just passing the time here.  We are writers.  So I decided to experiment with our next prompt.

You are invited to submit a short creative piece here of your own devising on May 1.   I would ask you to limit it to around 1000 words.  I want to give you this challenge so that you will feel that familiar pressure to meet an assignment that has a deadline.

I will renew this invitation again on May 1, but I want to let you know now so you can prepare something good to share.  Feel free to goof around, dazzle, display gravitas, or whatever suits.

My one request is that if you post, you also read and comment on everyone else’s posting.  That will ensure that everyone has a generous number of reviews.  I want you to read, review, and write a comment as an educated reader who can discuss what worked well for you in each piece, what particularly pleased you, and/or where you got lost or discouraged.

We’ve all been writing together for a while now.  In one sense, we have always been a writers group, so why not formalize our efforts once a year?  Let’s use May 1 as our First Annual ALWAYCT Submission Day where we do our best and share our comments as readers and fellow enthusiasts.

Add a copyright symbol to what you submit so that I am sure you have reserved all your rights.  Like this:  ©Ann Linquist, All Rights Reserved.  (On my Word program, the copyright symbol is found at ALT, Control, C)

Remember that all writers are hoping to improve rather than arrive at some self-appointed, super-deluxe-writerhood.   Once again, this is practice, a process.  Enjoy yourself and plan to dive in.

19 responses to “NaNoWriMo Has Nothing On Us!

  1. This looks like fun. I might give it a try.

  2. Thank you. This sounds like a great opportunity.

  3. galelikethewind

    Yahoo! Can’t wait to get the creative juices flowing- and start reading works from the group !

  4. will be fun I’ll start writing tonight thanks for the fun prompt.

  5. Does that mean we won’t have any prompts in the meantime? Are you going on sabbatical?

  6. Sounds fun. Can’t wait to see everyone’s submissions. I hope my muse comes out of hibernation by then. Have fun writing, everyone!

  7. I will definitely be staying around. I may even have to come up with a writing challenge on the notion of a black sabbatical.

    • Dude, I love them still. They rock my ass! I have “Paranoid” as my ringtone and sometimes I just let it ring in a restaurant and never answer it. And sometimes in a bar I play it and chicks want to dance. Cool huh? Too bad ’bout Ozzy though. Sad.

  8. Barbara Burris

    Yikes! A real challenge. I’ve been dry, dry, dry for ages! Maybe now’s the time to take the plunge. Thanks, Ann!

  9. My first accepted online submission at nailpolish stories … Flash fiction, 25 words which use a nailpolish color as prompt

    • I thought about writing flash fiction after I finished Ann’s class but I wasn’t very successful at it. Your pieces have such impact. Nice job on Cotton Candy.

  10. galelikethewind

    Jeff – really liked your cotton candy.

  11. OK, I’ll kick things off, inspired from my recent vacation… Jeff


    ©Jeff Switt, All Rights Reserved.

    Cresting waves break on shore, stones and shells carried on their shoulders, trophies from Poseidon deposited at my feet. Receding water teasing my toes, pulling my soul to its depths, urging me to join its escape. The grayness of the sky matches the tone of my heart as I watch few couples braving cold mist air walking hand in hand. I turn toward the sea, hands clutching each other. Shivering. Shaking. It ‘s only the cold I tell myself, but I know that’s a lie.

    Tomorrow I crawl back into the reality of my life.

    I try to relive joy from yesterday, my daughter’s wedding, my third child in love. She hadn’t asked for advice and none was offered. What advice could a woman in a marriage empty as the broken shells at my feet give?

    My mind wanders to forbidden thoughts of another. We shared a moment beneath a canopy of green growing to the height of God. I held his arm as we walked in peace, looking at this, commenting on that.

    He stopped and said, “I want to tell you something. I love you.”

    “Yes, I know.”

  12. THE NEW ORDER © 2013 Gale Davis All Rights Reserved

    By the turn of the twenty-third century, the demographics of The New United States had been stable for over fifty years. The SuperBlacks were ruling the Empire from TheDC. The minority classes found it ironic that the SuperBlacks had used the research in the Olduvai Gorge of a WhiteMale from the twentieth century, Doctor Louis Leakey. to prove that they were the first humans on earth, in order to establish their absolute power.
    Outside of TheDC, the country was made up of four other Major Metropolitan Areas, The SanFran, The SouthAtlanta, The ChicagoLand, and TheNewYorker. Surrounded by The OpenCountry, they were almost cookie-cutter in their design.
    In each of those urban centers, the DarkBlacks lived in the InnerUrbans, beautiful, park-like cores that contained the hundreds of estates of this super-wealthy class. The InnerUrbans were encircled by the HispanoGhetto areas, a greenbelt swath of single family residences and entertainment centers. As you moved out and away from the HispanoGhetto, you entered the area of TheApartments of the Orientalies and the Indianos, who directly managed the Whites.
    The Whites lived in a circular area of high-tech cubicle style homes, called Homeblocks, that surrounded the entire Metropolitan Area. Here they were enslaved to perform in Think Tanks and develop new technologies to support the upper classes with food, medical breakthroughs, new science, and genetic engineering. The White families were limited to one male offspring, so as to not create another White Majority uprising as had happened at the turn of the last century. WhiteFemales had many more rights than the males, and could even travel into The OpenCountry, to tend to the Super Black’s children on their many VacationTrips. All Whites, male and female, were tested for IQ levels at age 18, and if they tested below 90, they were allowed to work directly for SuperBlacks and DarkBlacks, caring for their infant children.
    WhiteMale John Minor lived with his parents and his three sisters in a cubical on the edge of The SanFran, a one-hundred mile strip of territory that ran from OldSeattle to OldLA along the West Coast. Two years ago, his IQ had tested at over 130, and he was directed to work on nuclear research to protect the New United States from foreign invasion. As members of one of the lowest classes of Whites, John and his family lived in a cubicle at the extreme edge of the Homeblock, near the Perimeter Fence that bordered the OpenCountry.
    John had seen many Orientalies and Indianos in his life, but never a Hispano, DarkBlack, or a SuperBlack. To him,those classes only existed in the history books. So you can imagine, dear reader, that early one evening, when John saw the SuperBlack girl Kanesha approaching the Perimeter Fence at the end of the alley near his cubical, he was quite taken aback, and most curious.
    Kanesha motioned for John to come to the four foot thick clear plastic fence. John knew that it was strictly forbidden for a WhiteMale to even gaze upon SuperBlack or DarkBlack women, and he was terrified at first. But she was so beautiful. Her skin was the color of ebony, and her dark eyes almost glowed on either side of her wide nose. And those lips. They appeared to be as soft as angel’s skin to John. A brightly colored bandana was wrapped around Kanesha’s perfectly shaped head like a turban, and she wore a long flowing dress of the same pattern. She looks like a princess, thought John, as he slowly moved closer to the fence.With the grace of well trained athlete, Kanesha tossed a small object over the thirty foot barricade. The Zphone landed in the thick weeds at John’s feet. Kanesha disappeared behind a large rock, about ten meters from the fence. John picked up the Zphone. It was a model that his father had worked on several month’s ago, so he was familiar with its operation. It vibrated in his hand. John touched the small screen, and heard Kanesha’s silky voice say “Hello?”
    Kanesha Wise was the daughter of one of the most powerful men in TheDC. At eighteen, she had already completed four years of college. While she learned about the classes of this society in school, she developed an unchecked desire to get to know them firsthand. Her father had forbidden her to pursue this dream, so she had gone underground. Using her Zphone, she had already interviewed several DarkBlack young men, one Hispano, one Orientaly, and one Indiano.
    “Hello,” whispered John into the small device, “who are you?”
    “I can only talk for a minute. The phone might be monitored.” she said, “I am Kanesha, and I live in TheDC. I want to get to know all about you. But we must be extremely careful. I will call you again tomorrow at this same time. Good-bye.”
    “Uh, my name is John Minor.” he said, but she had already hung up. John very carefully put the small device in his front pants pocket and zipped it shut. He was so nervous that he was sweating under his tight shirt. Whites were only allowed to wear one style of clothing. WhiteMales wore skin tight dark shirts, and khaki pants with functional pockets on front and back. As their personal identification was in a small chip embedded under the skin of their right earlobe, they had no need for wallets or other such objects. The pockets were only used for carrying food, water and tools pertaining to their work.
    At precisely the same moment on the ncxt day, John sat under the small bush near the fence. Cradling the phone like a piece of delicate glass, he felt a soft vibration in his hand.
    “Speak quickly and quietly,” she said,”Tell me your name, your job, and your family status.”
    “I am John Minor,” he stammered,”I work in Nuclear, and I live with my dad, mom, and three younger sisters. I have an IQ of 138.” Why did I throw that in, he wondered, regretting it immediately.
    “Hi, John,” she said, in the most delicious accent John had ever heard, “talk with you again tomorrow.”
    John and Kanesha talked in this brief manner every evening except Sunday for months. He learned of her father’s prominent position, and her life as a SuperBlack. She learned of John’s life as a low class WhiteMale. Their friendship blossomed across the thick fence and the chasm of their social status. They never physically saw each other again after the first encounter, and communicated strictly by phone and text.
    “You realize that I cannot permit you to continue this.” said her father sternly,”If it ever got out publically it would be the end of my career. I am sending you abroad, Kanesha. You will be going to school in Londondom for the next four years. And, I will take that phone young lady!”
    John waited at the bush every night for a full month, before he finally gave up hope. He was devastated. He had never loved another human being as much as he loved Kanesha. How could she have deserted him without saying goodby? He threw the small phone back over the fence.

    • Gale – what a good story, well-written and a great twist throughout. Your best so far, without a doubt. Jeff

      • galelikethewind

        A much appreciated compliment, Jeff. This posting was about my 3rd draft- I posted final draft on another section of this blog. ( see First Annual ALWAYCT… Above on right)
        Others are posting there as well – a little confusion it seems,

  13. I have been playing around with flash fiction for a while now, and the following developed from my reply to Ann’s “Black Sabbatical” note above.

    ©Jeff Switt, All Rights Reserved.


    My phone rings. I love the ringtone. It’s Black Sabbath’s Paranoid. I have it set to play for sixty seconds before the message kicks in. I bounce my head up and down like Garth in “Wayne’s World.” God he’s so cool. I answer at around forty-five seconds. It’s my mother.

    “Ronnie, I got your text to call you at nine. What’s up darling?”

    I disconnect and start to talk. In a loud voice so the chicks around the bar can hear.

    “Hey baby, good to hear from you. Cabo? Tonight? Nah, can’t do it. Got things going here.

    I pause as if to listen.

    “Yea, it was fun. You tore me a new one. Gimme a call later, okay?”

    I hit disconnect, admire myself in the bar mirror, give my hair a finger comb. It’s receding a bit. Not bad. I take a sip of my scotch and soda, and look again as I take another sip. I’ve got the look, for sure.

    My phone rings. My head is bouncing. The girl standing next to me turns.

    “Your phone. Answer your phone Beavis.”

    “Name’s Barry, not Beavis. I extend my hand. She turns away.
    I answer my phone, cutting it close.

    “You got Barry, baby.”

    “Ronnie? What’s this Barry crap? Why did you text me to call you after nine?”

    It’s my sister. I click disconnect and talk loud.

    “Hey baby.”


    “How many grams? No way. That’s hard time if I get caught. You want a bump? I can meet you later.”

    I pause again.

    “Sure bring your sister. She’s hot. Not as hot as you though. Okay. At ten. Ciao.”

    I look at the chick next to me. She’s watching me in the bar mirror.

    “Looks like it’s going to be a good night.”

    “Piss off,” she tells me.

    I give her a smirk, that I-know-you-want-me smirk, and chug my scotch.

    “Bartender, gimme another. Put something in it this time.”

    I laugh. I hike my pants up to my waist and feel my gut. I need to lose a couple pounds. Thirty-eights are fitting a bit tight.

    Someone taps me on the shoulder. She’s young and hot, looks maybe eighteen. She leans into my ear.

    “Dad. Mom says it’s time to come home.”

    • galelikethewind

      Jeff – you made this dickhead almost lovable. GREAT move having his “hot” daughter coming in at end. Hope u submit his to Flash Fiction.

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