Take a 3 x 5 card and write an entire short story on it, using only one side. To do this, you'll have to stick to the bare essentials. What is really necessary for this piece of writing to qualify as a story? Most likely it will have to be a very simple story, and you'll need to introduce the conflict immediately.
When you're finished, read your story to various people and note their reactions. Did they feel what you expected them to? Why or why not? Did they find it a satisfying (if brief) story?
If you don't like writing longhand, you can do the same challenge on a computer, giving yourself a 100 word limit.
If you feel comfortable sharing your story, e-mail it to me. A selection of the stories sent in will appear on a future Just for Fun page.
Thud! A burst of the brightest light, she being yanked, tousled about. Is this real? A gun at her head, a knife at her throat and fear in her soul. Tears in her eyes, overflowing and wincing in pain. "You told me this was going to be a party!" Pain had coalesced and coagulated in a bruise over her entire form. "This IS a party! A surprise party--and you're the party!"
"Gold," I snicker. My laugh echoes through The Cave of Wonderment. It's mine? All mine: Red rubies, golden idols, and dirty oil lamps? Dirty lamps? Clank.
"What is your command!"
I cackle because this can't be real.
The Jeanie stares at me. His bushy brows furrow and his eyes narrow.
I swallow and realize his legs are all but dark smoke, and this is very real. "Gold." I blabber.
"Your wish is my command," he nods.
I stiffen and my tongue tastes metallic.
He bows low to my golden body. "Oh, how I adore my eternal masters," he mocks.
"God, bless it!" I say, running straight into the wall for the ninth time today. I grumble out a complaint, fixing my glasses.
"What are you complaining about?" my eldest brother George asks, standing in my doorway, his hand on his hip like a disapproving mother.
"These forsaken glasses are throwing me off," I whine pitifully.
"You were the one who insisted on getting new ones," he reminds me, reaching over and pushing my glasses up to the bridge of my nose.
"I know," I grumble out, falling back onto my bed.
"Suck it up buttercup!" George boops my nose.
Thanks for dropping by!...
Except where noted, Content © 1996 - 2018
Updated Oct 2, 2017
send site feedback to