A Spud-Like Short Story

Because sometimes, you just have to write a noir scene about a detective and potatoes... ********** I pressed the red circular button on my small audio recording device, set it down on the detective’s desk, and looked up at him. The street lights outside were mostly blocked by the drawn shades in his dank charcoal-grey office, and a slow trail of cigarette smoke was curling it’s way from his bandaged left hand, past his square jaw, until it finally stretched out and blanketed across the paint-peeled tin ceiling above us. Private Detective Poe Tatum looked as if though he’d been run over by a delivery truck with an Idaho license plate. Twice. He brought his bandaged hand to his mouth and took a long drag…

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Writing Exercise – Something’s Missing

So I'm in a small local writer's group (when I mean small, I mean small - most weeks it's 2 or 3 of us, the max is 4), and we decided to issue a kind of "homework" assignment week to week to stretch our writing brain. It's nothing terribly burdensome, so it doesn't affect the WIP (Work In Progress, for those of you who are bad at acronyms OMGWTFLOLBBQ). This week's assignment - write a scene in which there is a character focused on something that is missing. For me, I decided to focus it on loss (eh, I'm an oft-downtrodden INFJ, it's a thing). Here, without any further explanation, I give you my 500-ish-word scene featuring poor Sam ... ********** The screen door creaked…

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As Chaos Reigns, A Writer Writes

My Tuesday was typically insane.  The kids in the house begging for food every three minutes, spilling things, fighting, getting bloody noses (not from the fighting, that actually would've been supremely epic). Work was piled up and I was in the midst of a huge and complicated programming project.  One that required full attention that I couldn't give, but struggled to. A friend of mine called and they were in some measure of emotional distress, so while I was talking with them to help offer what little support I could (just being there is sometimes a great gift to someone), the dog started yipping because he had to get outside and relieve himself before he soiled one of the few patches of carpet in the…

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Meet Henrietta, I Hope You Hate Her.

This is Henrietta. So part of the reason I've stalled so much in the past week as far as writing is concerned, is because it was Henrietta's time for an introduction, and I absolutely hate the character. "Why create a character you hate?" Exactly.  I need her in the story.  She's a 50-something greedy, reprehensible human being that hides behind identity politics and the "greater good" in order to feed her own ambitions and insatiable hunger for power and control. She's important to the story. She has no redeeming qualities.  She's the hardest character I have in the story as far as being able to empathize, and writing her was something I was absolutely dreading. Until I did.  I had to figure out a way…

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