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250 ways to start a story |
| [Introduction] How to begin? Anyone could write a book if they just knew how to start. Voila! Here are 250 ways to begin your next work. None of these beginnings have been taken to completion. That's your job. Of course, after you publish your story, let us know and we'll remove that beginning from the list so that there won't be 7 or 8 books on the market that all have the same title and first paragraph. Good luck! |
They Rode At Brunch Breakfast was late that morning. Old Charlie had trouble with the propane tank and it exploded. Luckily no great harm was done, but I had to send Luke into town for a replacement tank and by the time he returned the sun had risen halfway to the zenith, not a fit time for a man to chow down, yet it seemed unreasonable to ask those lanky cowboys to wait until lunchtime for their beans and bacon. |
Among Friendly Skies Bubba poured himself a cup of coffee, looked through the window over the kitchen sink and recognized Earl's unique silhouette against the New Mexico sky. From Bubba’s vantage point, the fifty-five years of Earl’s life were not evident. He still appeared strong, tall, and fit. His weathered skin, hardened by over thirty years at sea, and his rock hard muscular frame appeared just as solid now as it did the last time Bubba saw him over thirty some odd years ago before he had joined the Merchant Marines. Earl moved in with us eight months ago when he retired, and he is always up before sunrise; he fixes a pot of coffee, and then disappears to watch the skies till the break of dawn. He stands in this dust bowl of the earth, wanders amongst the bramble and bush repeatedly mumbling that old sailors tale, "Red sky in morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night, sailors delight.” Within two weeks of moving in with us, he had a load of assorted wood delivered, and for the last six months he has been making like Noah building the Ark. It’s surely appears like it’s going to be a nice boat, but Earl sure gets grumpy when he doesn’t get fed on a regular basis. He is definitely what I would call a routine kind of fellow. |
In Case of Fire Clang! Clang! Clang! Johnny Ray leaped from his bunk, instantly alert and looking for his pants. A professional fireman doesn't need coffee to get going -- it's his job to get going. And Johnny got. After pulling on his thick fireproof pants, he stepped into his black boots, grabbed his protective coat, and slid down the long chrome pole to the garage below where the truck was waiting, its engine already idling because driver Ernie was even quicker than Johnny. Seeing Johnny aboard, Ernie revved the engine, turned on the mournful wail of the siren, and the big red firetruck rumbled out into the night. |
Contrition Can't Hurt Alice and me use to hang out at K-Mart after dropping the kids off at school. Just before I loaded my little darlings in the old family Burban, I’d make sure that I turned our thermostat to 85, turn off all the lights, and swoosh I’d be out the door, drop the kids off, meet up with Alice, and then off we’d go to catch every blue light special running till time to pick up the kids at school. This was the routine five days a week during the school year. Harry hated it when I called our GMC Suburban simply Burban. I found it an amusing nickname. When we’d go grocery shopping, I’d make sure that I’d say, “I’ll get the Burban” just loud enough for some Church going, Bible thumping biddy to think I was talking about real Bourbon. I’d nearly double over laughing all the way across the parking lot to get into our Burban and pick up Harry at the entrance. “Gail. Gail.” I could hear Alice’s voice, and felt her shaking me awake. Looking around numbly, I realized I must have dosed off. Suddenly the book on my lap slid off and loudly slapped the highly polished, sterile floor. I searched Alice’s face for hope. “He’s going to be alright, Alice.” |
Gone With the Rain Emerald O'Reilly stood in the pouring rain, watching her beloved city fall into ruins. Rhett, her butler, stood close by holding a huge beach umbrella over her head. Her old Nanny called from the condominium's patio, "Emerald! Emerald, honey! You come in out of that rain right now! You know you don't know nothin' about building no sand castles, much less a whole city with a lake and a dam." Emerald rose to her feet and looked at the stormy ocean. Her face was etched with grim determination as she murmured, "Tomorrow is another day." Then she whirled around and marched back to the condo. She glared at Nanny as she passed her on the patio. "The rain spoiled everything before I could finish my city. And frankly, Nanny, I didn't build a dam." |
Rubbing Anguished Bones With Ben Gay This Anthology has been collected and Edited by L.G. Tabor, whose project would never have been possible with out the support and grant provided by Pfizer Strategic Investments Group. The Grant permitted Ms. Tabor to enlist the most popular and talented writer's from around the globe. Within the covers of this Anthology, there exist some of the finest, funniest, and thought provoking stories ever to grace a page. What a unique and refreshing presentation this Anthology has proven itself to be for Bengay, and Ben Gay, regardless of how it is spelled. |
Time Will Tell Donna Jean Wannamaker received a healthy dose of reality one morning when she found herself in the unenviable position of being the bearer of bad news. Why had they selected her to be the bearer? This was her regular washday and now a week's worth of dirty laundry was lying in an untidy, disheveled mass of unsorted colors and fabrics on her otherwise spotless bathroom floor, for that was the room in which the washer and dryer resided. But the washer and dryer stood idle now, despite it being their scheduled hour of operation, because Donna Jean Wannamaker, instead of performing her regular household chores, was off on a fool's errand for the mysterious 'they' - delivering their unwanted message to some poor unsuspecting recipient, a recipient who would undoubtedly break down in sobs and tears and further delay Donna Jean from her normal routine. |
Only Victors Write History “What’s the best kept secret in the United States today? Gail asked the class, none too innocently either. As a teacher, she felt it was her duty to make the students that passed through her class expose themselves to independent thinking. It was her duty to force them to look at the big picture of when the Iraq war really started. The students sat still and silent. Since the Presidential election campaigning process had begun in earnest it had become painfully evident that somehow American citizens had accepted another definition of democracy. |
The Wakening Deep in the bowels of the Mountain of Fortitude a being of magnificent proportions stirred. The mountain trembled. Peasants in villages a hundred miles away fell to their knees and asked their gods to protect them and their wives and small children and the goats and the chickens and the house. But He Who Stirred was not one of the beneficient gods of the peasants -- he was an Evil god, a god who could not be appeased by mere prayers. He Who Stirred could only be satisfied by pain and suffering and the screams of his victims. |
A Call To Duty Many sons of Liberty agreed to protect their country. It was an unspoken duty, passed on to them by the sacrifices of their ancestors. Parents and Grandparents proudly sent their sons, daughters, and grandchildren off to protect the citizens that had come to enjoy all the benefits of living in a democracy. As a free society, the peoples’ effort to build the greatest, richest, most powerful country in world had succeeded. Unfortunately, without their knowing it they were being betrayed by the want of wealth and power unprecedented in the historical annals of the world since the beginning of time. Civilian businessmen who knew nothing of war, or the warriors that answer the call to come to their countries defense now called upon proud warriors to work side by side with civilian contractors. Contractors that by any other name, and at any other time in history were called mercenaries. Mercenaries who are paid private soldiers who fight and take up arms for the highest bidder, and do not fight for love and honor of any one country. |
Mission to Aldebran IV Flames burst from the bottom of the long silver needle. Slowly, gracefully, on a roiling cloud of thick smoke, the Space Survey craft Dauntless lifted from the Earth. Two previous missions to Aldebran IV had met with mysterious disasters, so a third spaceship had been built and launched. This time extreme caution would be used in the approach to Aldebran IV. The ship would remain in orbit. There would be no loud talking and the captain was empowered to confiscate any audio entertainment devices that were operating at a high volume. |
The Truth IN Fiction “I am returning each of your short story assignments without grading them. If you expect me to buy into any of the plots that you have created for this creative writing exercise, then I suggest you at least make it believable. As I prepared this class assignment, I have also been working on the subject of Truth IN Fiction, for our newsletter…” “Ms. Gail, Ms. Gail.” A voice from the back of the class interrupted, and multiple hand waving action only served to further my annoyance. “What? What is so important that you must interrupt me every time I am try to speak?” “If it is fiction, then what do you mean by truth in fiction? I don’t understand.” “Obviously Norman, and neither does anyone else in this class. It is one thing if my peers want to debate my theory about truth in fiction, but I am the teacher and all of you are my students. As my students, I have decided that our next exercise will require that each of you build your fictional plot around some known truth. It is not difficult. All I expect is that if you want me to believe your story is plausible and not just a mere exercise in putting words on a page in a grammatically correct manner that there is any possibility it has to be a ring of believability, or truth, then you must interweave a certain amount of known and accepted facts into your story.” “Ah, man she is talking about research.” |
Was Columbus Gay? In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue. That is a known fact, indisputable in its authenticity. A little known fact is that no women sailed with him. Doesn't that seem odd? An ocean voyage across the Atlantic in those days took months. Are you telling me that vigorous, able-bodied, sea-going men could live for months without the pleasures of female companionship? Another little known fact is that the interiors of the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria were lavishly and tastefully decorated. When two little-known facts are added together, you sometimes get a surprising new fact. But I am not saying that just a couple of facts make a truth. In the next 500 pages we will examine a wealth of historical evidence. We will search, sift, analyze, and summarize. The final result of our efforts will be a definitive answer to the question of my title -- Was Columbus Gay? |
What About Greeks Historically speaking, Greek men reared young boys in more ways than one. Were all Greeks born gay? Today’s assignment is to discuss in excruciating detail the rearing of young Greek boys by grown Greek men in Greek society. What role did women play? Is Greek history the first and only example of a whole society of men living on the down low? |
Last Days of Flipper Tracking down Flipper was not easy, since he lives in water and leaves no footprints, but I suppose first you want to know WHY. So many fans of the old "Flipper" TV series have written me to ask "Whatever became of Flipper? Where is he now? Did they set him loose in the ocean?" that I decided to take a month off from my wholesale fish businesss and do a little research. This article is the result of that research. |
Presidential Flip Flops Discuss and provide a graphic timeline of the current Presidential candidates Flip Flops concerning their positions on Truth, Foreign Policy, and the American Economy. Cite and document all sources. |
Why Flip-Flaps Flopped Many people are unaware that twenty years before Kiyogi Hanamushi invented the wonderful casual shoe known as Flip-Flops, there was another man, equally inventive, but unfortunately born too soon. That man was Kelvin Perk of Corn Hollow, Tennessee. Because of an unfortunate accident with an exploding corn mash whiskey still, Kelvin was left with a deformed foot. Finding no shoes to fit, he managed to cut pieces out of an old pickup truck tire and fashion an odd-looking pair of sandals for himself. He called them Flip-Flaps. Soon all of Kelvin's neighbors were requesting a pair of the comfortable shoes and by the end of three months, everyone in Corn Hollow, Tennessee was wearing Flip-Flaps. What Kelvin did next wrote a new chapter in the history of footwear. |
Flip-Flaps to Stilettos The post-war baby boomers dominated fashion in the 1960’s, and will certainly be a driving force in shoe design and innovation in the 21st century. Aging baby boomers are now the largest consumer of shoes to ever influence the design and style market with their numbers and buying power. As shoe manufactures and designers struggle to serve the specialized needs created by their wide, swollen, crusty, old and distressed feet, the question is where the spark of fashion design inspiration will take the next generation in footwear evolution. It has long been known that designers take inspiration from other cultures, shoes of the past, and their own philosophy of dress to create the shoe that they hope will be next season’s must have. Technological advances and increased knowledge of how feet serve their respective owners as they go through the rigors of their daily lives have now brought footwear designers to a point to where they are unable to look back in time for inspiration. Fashion forward manufacturers will need to target these aging, affluent baby boomers. These factors will result in how modern shoes will function and look. |
Shady Lane Earl pushed his hat back. It was hot. Damn hot. The dame in number 33 hadn't budged. Earl looked at his watch. Sam would take over for him soon and he could get a cold beer at Charlie's. Uh-oh. The blonde was on the move. She stood at the entrance while the doorman hailed a cab. When her taxi started off, Earl waited until a gray Studebaker got behind the cab, then he pulled his big Hudson out into the traffic and followed them. |
The Window Dresser Twenty-six floors above the street Trisha stared out of her office window. Her corner office was a much coveted company perk she earned, but she knew that her job was like playing the childhood game of "King on the Hill". In her capacity as National Manager of Public Relations she was responsible for the companies image to consumers. The measure of her success was as volatile as the New York Stock Market. Yesterday’s New York Times front-page coverage of the company’s Chief Financial Officer being arrested for the brutal murders of the entire Board of Directors during a closed-door meeting is going to be a public relations nightmare of global proportions. The murders were not going to play well for LynchCOM’s stockholders, much less project a stable, reliable and trustworthy image to consumers. Trisha needed to figure out a way to play this whole twisted mess off in the media as an individual case of Robert McKey breaking under the combined pressures of his personal life and job. To divert most of the media scrutiny of LynchCOM, she needed to start by convincing Detective Cody that McKey simply had a mental breakdown, and the murders had absolutely nothing to do with LynchCOM’s operations. |
King of the Hill Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don't. A simple truism perhaps, but one that was destined to turn Robert McKey's hard-earned lifestyle of wealth and priveledge into a nightmare of murder accusations and stockholder lawsuits. Born into a middle-class family (his father managed a WalMart) in Aggressive, Ohio, Robert "Bob" McKey attended a state college (Ohio State) and seemed destined for a career much like his father's. But Fate, following whims of its own, decided that Bob McKey would lead a very different life from that of his father. |
Review: Of Bibs and Babes Newsletter Bibs and Babes is a new monthly newsletter that is addressing fashion issues for full-breasted women. Their goal is to make the fashion industry accutely aware of the fashion needs of modern, well-endowed, blessed woman in today's fashion market. Bibs and Babes is attaching bra designers that feel they need to sell fully developed women on wearing minimizer bras. Obviously these blessed women have nothing to be ashamed of, and are proud of their button busting breast. The newsletter clearly states that women will no longer allow designers or society to impose on them the need to squeeze, mush, mash, mold, and squash their breast for fashion sake. Each issue is promised to offer clothing that rewards every woman with clothing designed to flatter the figure of a full-busted, well-endowed woman. Well men, I think that it is safe to say that most of you will agree with me when I say that we certainly support these ladies, and look forward to every issue being packed with pictures of full-breasted women in all their glory. |
Sleep Like A Baby Margaret reached groggily for her pacifier. Where was the damn thing? She thought about bawling, but her diaper was dry and no one would know what the hell she wanted. Better to wait until she needed changing. Then maybe someone would notice the dropped pacifier. She sighed and looked at her toes again. Were they really attached to her? It was beginning to seem as though they were. They kept popping into view everytime she kicked her leg. She muttered a long stream of meaningless syllables. Damn! That was beginning to sound about right! Oh for the day when I can tell these friggin b-holes what I think of them! She smiled. And what was that smell? Yes! A loaded diaper! Time to sound the alarm. She took a deep breath and began to howl. |
America: Where Democracy Once Ruled So I will write, "I will be voting for Kerry, not because of what the man says or does not say, but rather because of what the current President and his Administration has done to America." Would that be acceptable? They, whoever they are, shot Kennedy. John W. Hinckley, Jr. shot at President Reagan, using a .22 caliber handgun. Mark David Chapman shot and killed John Lennon. Certainly all of the aforementioned are shameful, regrettable tragedies. Can anybody explain how apathy has reached such epidemic proportions in America that even crazies and nuts have not crawled out of the woodwork, and not even tried to take pot shots at the current President and any of his cohorts? Yes, it is a horrible and morbid thought. It is just a thought. A question that the current Administration's zealous supporters could and may have me arrested for even making. And that is my exactly my point. MSN put up a poll on its website some time ago that asked something like, “Would you risk your job to heckle someone?” I was ashamed that over 64 % of those that responded to the poll answered “NO”. That tells me that the Bush Dictatorship is whipping once free Americans into foregoing their right to free speech; a right granted by the Constitution of the United States. America and its people are in serious trouble, and its people are too scared, or too apathetic to stand up for fear of losing their employment. In my opinion, Bush is more dangerous than Hitler, or the now disposed leader of Iraq, who’s country Bush caused America to invade with his lies and deception. |
Hail, Glorious Lemmings! The tramp of thousands of feet lulled him into a dreamy reverie of belonging and acquiescence. It was so comforting to be part of a very large group, a group with a purpose and a direction. |
En Masse Collective feet Trample the Arctic Tundra As thousands of Small gray rodent’s black striped bodies Move from dry, high areas Which has been their crowded mountain homes Deliberately marching towards lower lands Where under winters snow Within her snow banks Dry grasses, feathers, and musk ox fur Line their nests Dressed, now in new solid winter white coats They dine on bark and twigs Waiting nature’s inevitable fate Starvation Or worse As those that won’t survive Become the victims Become the prey Others only salvation found In mass numbers |
Sugar In The Morning Sugar in the morning, sugar in the evening, sugar at suppertime. Jack liked sugar. Fructose, glucose, or sucrose -- if it was sweet he ate it. He drank bottles of corn syrup to wash down the granulated sugar. Sometimes he spiced things up with honey or molasses. On Saturday morning he treated himself to a bottle of authentic maple syrup from Maine and on Sunday evening he had his favorite desert -- brown sugar pie. Of course, he ate other things besides sugar -- things like marshmallows, jelly beans, gummy bears, sugar daddies -- and sometimes he would even eat cakes and cookies, although only if they were made with as little flour as possible. He didn't like the way the flour smothered the taste of the sugar. |
Poisoning America One Bite at a Time Sugar is a poison that even Mary Popins touted as having properties of making the medicine go down with ease. For most of us, the damage has been done. Years of consuming buckets of sugar on or in our food and drinks have taken its toll – America is a nation of fat people. Sugar is not the only culprit in the battle of the bulge. Quantity of what Americans put in their mouths is probably the biggest contributor to the obesity problem that plagues our country. We over eat. We are encouraged to over eat by manufacturers who make what appears to be single serving size candy bars, and then it is only discovered after close inspection of the packaging that what we have been led to believe was a single serving candy bar is actually meant to sever 2.5 individuals. In my opinion, this should be considered criminal. Of course this deception is not limited to candy bars. We all know that the box of hamburger helper will not feed four or five people; not with the appetites that have been created by less than observant parents and greedy food stuffs sellers. Is sugar the only poison that is being sold so abundantly over our grocers’ counters? No! Absolutely not, there is the sodium that is used to preserve all of these foodstuffs that are being sold to us. Of course, as consumers, we want to believe the lies printed on the packaging. We have demonstrated that we are more than willing to trade prepackaged convenience for our very health and physical well being. We are cutting our lifespan by decades just for the pleasure our taste buds derive from sugar and sodium. We are killing ourselves by the food we consume. We are ultimately responsible. I am actually surprised that health insurance companies have not started electronic monitoring of our grocery purchases, which they will in turn use to determine the rate on health and life insurance premiums. We are all working jobs that exhaust us, and then we reward ourselves with prepackaged convenience foods that are packed with sodium and sugar. The FDA is not going to save us. |
Saved By The FDA This is the little-known story of Tiny Tim Whitmoss, one of the last of the old-time "Arkansas Fiddlers" who traveled the roads of rural America just after the dawn of the twentieth cantury. In those unregulated times of backyard gin, snake oil, and Cocaine Cola, it was easy to find death in a bottle. The fact that Tiny Tim escaped the Drink of Death is a tribute to the watchfulness of what was then a little-known agency with a staff of merely three people. Yet that tiny microcosm of a bureaucracy was to grow into the lumbering giant that today we call the FDA. |
On Terrorism and Terrorist The reality is simple; it depends on an individual’s point of view. Having just had an epiphany concerning the true nature of what causes terrorism, and turns a person into a terrorist I feel obligated to share my findings. While the carnage and mayhem that results from any such act, the fact remains that it is an act of last resort. Terrorists are the foot soldiers of terrorism. Their crimes are no less shameful than the suffering, perceived or real, than the acts that provoked them. I do not condone terrorism. I am merely reporting that terrorists are created out of desperate circumstances that go far beyond a single individual’s act. Since Moses said, “Let my people go!” and possibly even before that terrorism has its roots in the eye of the beholder. |
Let My People Go! Although this is not the first Life of Moses, I like to think it is the best. I've read the rest and they leave out so much that is really useful to understanding Moses. I think you will find that I have done the research, read the books, talked to the scholars, and written a bang-up biography of one of the mightiest of the Old Testament heroes. And I am proud to announce that it has already been optioned as a screenplay by Fox, so with that Seal of Approval sitting proudly on our brow, let's dive into the life of the old sea-splitter, Moses. |
As Writers Go It’s said, “Writers live a solitary life.” They chose a place; surround their selves with what tools make their writing physically possible and comfortable, and then generally sit down to write. It is an on going process that has evolved with the available technology of the time in which the writing is actually conducted. From the time that man first put chisel to stone, to now, thousands of years later when all one merely needs to do is align fingers on a computers keyboard, the actual on going process of writing has not changed. Writing is a process, or tool, that enables one person to communicate with many; therefore it is not the writer that desires solitude but the physical process that requires it. While the rest of the occupants of the planet are going through their daily routines, writers, regardless of caliber, produce a historical record of the society in which they live. Like the tides, which are influenced by the moon, people, their lives, and the events of and on any given day influence writers. The inspiration to write cannot be found in isolation, it is found in a physical and emotional involvement with the world – either as a participant or an observer. It is a process of - going. Today, it is the, GOING, which has caught my attention. I am going to visit a friend… I am going to drive to Tennessee… I am going; you are going; we go… Writers must go somewhere, either physically or mentally, which will then provide the beginning, or source from which something will later develop, just as “the growing seeds of suspicion in her mind”. As writers go: forward, backwards, sideways, inside out, or outside in; the one consistent fact is that as writers go, so does their writing. As writers go, they find the answers to the questions:Why?, When?, Where?, What?, and Who?, and this is simply the How? of the writing process. Therefore, I disagree that writers are solitary by nature; it is the process of writing that is solitary. We must all face the fact that watching a writer write is as entertaining and exciting as watching paint dry. |
Watching Paint Dry Hermione bit her lip. Not accidently, but on purpose. It was one of her many odd little quirks. This particular quirk was good for reducing stress. The source of the stress was a long living room wall that had just been coated with Wild Autumn Wheat. Not straight from the can, but mixed with a few drops of November Sage. Hermione had been aiming for an Octoberish tone. Did she achieve the desired shade? She wouldn't know for sure until the wall dried completely. And it wasn't drying fast. She thought about taking her eyes off the wall and fixing a snack, but whenever she tried to avert her gaze, the wall drew her back. She didn't know what was so fascinating about watching paint dry, but she could not deny it's hold on her. She knew she would be there all night if necessary. |
All Night If Necessary Tim seemed to be wandering aimlessly in the parking lot. It was not easy to watch him pace up one parking lane and down the other, while his eyes appeared to be watching his shoe laces drag through the oil and grease deposited from the uncounted thousands of automobiles that had passed, parked, and departed over the years. Tim was a gentle soul; he never uttered a harsh word to anyone. This was the third day in a row that Tim was pacing the parking lot, and curiosity got the best of Mary Lou. “Hi Tim, what cha doing?” Mary Lou asked as she matched Tim’s unwavering pace through the parking lot. Tim never looked up or broke stride as he replied to Mary Lou’s busy body question, “Looking.” “What cha looking for? Maybe I can help you look?” Mary Lou didn’t want anyone else to know that she found Tim attractive, a little shabby around the edges, but with a little personal attention she was convinced that Tim would be worth her best efforts. “Naw. Mary Lou you need to take cares of your own self, and pay me no never mind. I’m fine. I am just going to keep looking, all night if necessary.” |
Keep Looking, Brother Did you stray from the flock? Have you gone on a "quest" for knowledge and adventure? Have you abandoned the tried and true, left your little village in the valley, and flown off into the wild blue yonder? Well, don't be afraid. I am not here to call you home. This will be no plea for a return to basic values and the certainties of a long tradition. I am with you in spirit even though I must remain behind to cut the grass, keep the chickens fed, and make sure the crows don't eat all the corn. But you go, kid. Realize your dreams and turn your visions into a new reality. Keep looking, brother... |
A True Witch's Brew This punch is not for the faint of heart. It has been handed down from one family member to a specially chosen other family member since before the time of cunniform. Alas, the time has come that there are no heirs to which to pass the receipe down to. So as not to let it fade from existence upon my death, I have choosen to bury it here: Deep in the woods, on a dark cool night, Gather buckets of hog snot from your neighbor's hogs, enough to half fill your caldron. Simmer over a low fire when the moon is full. Add Spiders' Webs Toads' Warts eye of newt ginger root owls' hoots one old, pig farmer's boot pigtails, broccoli and Brussels sprouts Carrots, do nicely too Find an old hen that has been literally scared to death. Find the old troll that lives under the farthest bridge, you'll have to bribe him with fool's gold, he'll give you a pail of fish tails, don't add those til the very end. Season to taste with various road kill, Owls migrate and a collection of various body parts, like feet, claws, and beaks, will spice it up nicely Save the owl feathers, they'll come in handy later. Never use a metal spoon. Only stir this brew with the handle of your best broom, by the light of a full moon, on a dark cool night. |
On A Dark Night The graveyard was quiet, except for the occasional hoot of an owl or the leathery flapping of batwings or the slow grating of stone against stone. Stone against stone? Yes, a gravestone was sliding slowly aside. And what would lie beneath such a stone? Whatever it was, it had hands which gripped the edge of the stone and pulled up the rest of itself. Vaguely human, it managed to stand up and stumble around. |
Things Can Change in a Split Second The split second hesitation at the door was all the time needed to close the arms length lead Henry had to escape. A large, hot hand grabbed the nape of his neck, and simultaneously flung him up and backwards. The door slammed; the thundering sound reverberated in Henry’s ears; his body bounced off the bed, as if it were a trampoline, and every nerve receptor flared instantly with excruciating pain as his head smacked the night table. Henry’s body landed in a bone-crushing heap on the floor. Barely conscience of the warm, oozing blanket of blood from his head wound beginning to cover his face, Henry struggled to open his eyes. “You’re an idiot, Henry Flank. You know that?” His father’s deep voice echoed in his mind. “Honey? Are you alright?” Henry welcomed the sound of a familiar soft, concerned voice. Suddenly the room was bathed in soft light; he felt a familiar touch, and someone kneeling down beside him. “Mom? Dad?” A child’s voice called out as the bedroom door opened. The loud knocking, and muffled voices crept into their bedroom from downstairs. “Mom? Policemen are asking for dad.” Henry was jerked roughly to his feet, his arms pulled uncomfortably behind him, and the cold steal of an officer’s handcuffs locked tightly around his wrist. “You’re under arrest.” The blue, flashing lights from the police cruisers reflected cold and harsh against the dark morning sky; an officer handed Henry’s wife a card with the public defenders phone number, and a ticket containing the charges. Phyllis felt her knees start to buckle as she read, “Six counts Vehicular Homicide; DUI; Reckless Operation; Failure to Yield.” Visions of the last twenty years with Henry flashed across her mind like a Fourth of July fireworks display. Phyllis watched horrified as the officers escorted her drunk and bleeding husband across their front lawn to a waiting police vehicle. She felt a combination of sadness, anger, and relief wash over her body. How many countless, sleepless nights had she envisioned different scenarios of this nightmare in her dreams because of Henry’s drunkenness? Was it inevitable? |
373 Things To Do With Styrofoam Welcome to the wonderful world of styrofoam crafting. You will find it not only a pleasant way to spend your leisure time but also a way to improve the environment. I encourage that you use "found" styrofoam as much as possible. A drive down any well-traveled highway will yield an abundance of roadside styrofoam. Being light and easily moved by the wind, it will often end up trapped in the roadside vegetation. It can withstand the weather for quite a while, although long exposure to the sun does eventually weaken it. |
I Married A Log Heidi hummed a little tune as she washed the last of the dishes. Through the window she could see the last rays of the setting sun setting the fir-studded slopes of the hills on fire with a golden beauty evocative of the last days of Ancient Greece. She selected a large butcher knife from the drain rack and crept stealthily into the living room where her lumberjack husband was stretched out on the sofa snoring like a buzz saw. |
A Different Place Rose stood peering up at the Martian sky through the huge glass dome. She enjoyed watching as the two small moons, Phobos and Deimos, paths crossed in the hazy, red colored sky. The humid, hot atmosphere in the glass enclosed flower garden excited her. The view was just an added bonus. She preferred being in any one of the Terrarium domes, to spending endless hours in the various sterile labs sprinkled about the huge, aging city complex. |
Girls Who Like Pillows Marie stumbled into the bedroom, the smell of cheap liquor and tax-free cigarettes forming a cloud of reek with her at the exact center of it. Demi turned up her perky little nose. "Oooh! You stink, Marie!" Marie's glazed eyes could barely focus on her roommate, but she managed to mumble, "Yeah? So what?" before she collapsed onto the huge feather bed that the two girls shared. |
Meeting a Famous Person Imagine that you are in your favourite cafe/restaurant and you ask someone to pass the salt, completely from random. When the person turns around you notice that she looks very familiar. After a few minutes you realise who she is, that's the woman that you absolutely idolise that is.... |
Time Waits For Pam Was this the day? Pam was trembling with excitement. At last! After days of waiting, days of suffering the agony of anticipation, it was finally going to happen! She leapt from the bed, threw off her nightgown, and stepped naked into the hot spray of the shower. |
A Strange Street Running late for a job interview you look down at your watch and turn the corner, you know you are completely lost and so far you have not seen a milk bar or any nearby shops that you could ask for direction. You start to run thinking they must be around the next corner when suddenly you run into something solid. You can't see anything, it looks like there's nothing there! It must be an invisible object, whatever it is...it's solid. But what is it? |
The Superior Human Status In the beginning, nature had her way with the Earth. This proved to be a natural, normal, and healthy process. A process that enabled life to survive, and after eons, man was introduced into the ever changing landscape. Its said that life crawled out of the sea, and that man evolved from the apes. The Bible claims we are all descendants of Adam and Eve. Regardless of what you believe about how man came to populate the Earth, people have survived, evolved, and thrived. There is still a lot more explaining to do after explaining how carbon-based life developed on earth. |
Skunkle Poofer "Now don't you be gettin' your snout wet today," called Mama Poofer in her raspy voice as Skunkle trudged down the lane to Betty Lou's Persimmon Boutique. "I won't, Mama. You knows I'm always careful with my snout." Skunkle worked part-time at the boutique sorting persimmons and deworming any stray cats that happened by. Betty Lou paid him with fresh persimmon cookies, which he didn't like all that much, but he knew people who did like them and he could trade the cookies for things he wanted, like cigarettes and beer and sex. |
A Writer's Imagination Your very first day of school you are asked to write a story, you are in grade 1 and you think that maybe that could be kind of interesting. Especially with that new pen and paper that your mom bought you just the other day. You take out your pen and paper and start to write. As you are writing you realise something, everyone is staring at you. Those voices of your charcters, you believe you are hearing them in your head, but what happens if your not? What happens when the page starts to speak to you? |
Take a Page from My Book “Like a skilled surgeon, butcher, or any other type of artisan I have craved characters – some benign; some malignant.” “Um, I see…” “NO, I don’t think you do see. My characters are created through a process. Much like the process that created the Earth out of the vast nothingness in outer space, I create my characters on the paper on which they live. Sometimes it just feels like the process of creating characters takes as long as it did for carbon based life to crawl out of the oceans on Earth. The Earth is my world; the page is their world. Them and me, we’re somehow connected physically, and emotionally. I breathed life into them, and then they seem to take on a life of their own. I am no longer in control, but merely a witness, a reporter, if you will, to tell the events of their story as it unfolds. They are as real as I am; it’s just that they live in an alternate universe. Come on doc, you just gonna sit there and tell me that you haven’t read any of my books? The people on those pages, they aren’t real to you, they don’t speak to you?” Across the room, a timer’s buzzer goes off. “Well, that’s the end of today’s session. I’m going to increase the dosage of your current medication. You are taking your medication, aren’t you?” The doctor eyed me with suspicion, and then continued, “I’ll see you again next week.” The doctor’s hand gently rests on my shoulder as he walks with me to his office door. “Doc, I’m not really crazy.” “I know. I’ll see you again, next week, we’ll discuss it them.” |
The Tiger Who Wore A Hat Deep in the heart of the dark green jungle lived an orange tiger who liked to wear a purple hat when he attacked and devoured innocent villagers who happened to stray too far from their little village situated on the banks of the long lazy river known as Mononga Bola Kunanga, the River of the Laughing Crocodile, a name given to the muddy waters by one of the first Europeans to penetrate deep enough into the jungle to discover the great slow brown tide that originates in the high mountains as many tiny trickles of snow melt that aggregate into rushing creeks that tumble to the bottom of the mountains where the flat plain bends their ferociousness into the broad docile flow of the river where the crocodiles lie in the sun all day and chuckle to themselves over the exploits of the little orange tiger who wears a purple hat. |
Superiority Complex "Grrr. Meow. Fffft." Sound familiar? A type of war that has been going on for ages between our feline and canine companions. Since the recent mutation of a cat-dog there has been a new animal on the marketplace. It wants it's position to be head of the animal domestic food chain and will stop at nothing until it suceeds. |
Chain of Food From the lowly amoeba to the highly human, life feeds on life. To be alive is to eat. Being alive is also about sleeping and doing the baby thing -- but this book will deal exclusively with the art and science of eating those colorful chunks of organic material that we call "food". I've also included some interesting tidbits about chains in chapter 15 -- "How to keep pests out of your garden". And there is an appendix -- Things You Can Eat That You Didn't Know Were Food -- that will be an eye-opener for many. |
A Weird Dream "Wake up honey, wake up!" You hear your mother's voice waking you in the morning to go to school. But how could this be? Your mother died 7 years ago, you are thirty years old and yet you hear her waking you up for school? This is one weird dream. Somewhere else in the universe you are waking up to your alarm clock going off, "Mum, I am not ready to go to school yet." Yes, you are right. Somehow your present self has been transformed to your 7-year-old self and your 7-year-old self has somehow been able to be transformed here. Something weird must have happened while you were sleeping. Is this really a dream of is it reality? You pinch yourself only to find...it's real. |
Pinch Me, Baby She was so beautiful it was hard to believe she was real. Was I dreaming? I put on my best smile. "Pinch me, baby, because I must be dreaming to see a woman as beautiful as you." "I'm not your baby," she said, and walked away. I ran after her. "Not yet, you aren't, but you don't think I can let someone as cute as you just walk out of my life, do you?" "I was never in your life. This is a public sidewalk." "But you've made such an impression on my heart that now I can't live without you." "You can't live with me either." "Please say you'll go out with me." "I wouldn't go out with you if you were the last man on Earth." "Why does everyone keep SAYING that?" |
Aliens! Just imagine for a minute that you are an alien from another galaxy. What do you think of earth? You have got one thing from home which is the equivalent of a computer where you can write letters to your mother and family and friends. What would you say to them about earth? How strange is it from home? Do you even like earth? |
They Came From Beyond The Moon It was a clear cold night and the stars were bright pinpoints in the blackness of the Arizona sky. Luke snored loudly in his sleeping bag, the only sound in the vast empty desert other than the occasional snort of his horse, the hoot of an owl, or the whisper of a rattlesnake sliding through the sand. A new star appeared in the sky and grew in size. A noise like the humming of a hive of bees grew in volume until Luke started up from his sleep and rubbed his eyes. Hanging over his head was a silvery disk. |
So Am I! It's the fifteenth birthday of your child and you set up a celebration, balloons, party poppers, everything is set up for the special day. You wait with your son/daughter for her/his friends to arrive. They arrive and the boys are wearing pink! The girls look more like boys than any guy you have ever seen in your life. "Um sweetie? About your friends, I think they might be...gay!" "So what mum? So am I!" |
Finding Yourself Do you often feel you’re being skipped over, or left out? Do you sometimes catch yourself feeling life just seems to be passing you by? How do you know if these feelings of being passed over are real, or just you being overly sensitive, and maybe even a little paranoid? In the pages of this book, you’ll find a collection of self-help test. Each Chapter contains multiple true and false tests, which will help you to determine if your feelings are based in reality, or determine if you are a victim of your own over active imagination. Use the key in Chapter 10 to determine Introduction: Page 3 Chapters: 1. Abandonment Issues – Real or Imagined 6 2. Childhood Influences – Effects 17 3. Issues that matter – Determining Priorities 36 4. Things You Can Do Something About 67 5. Things You Can’t Change 107 6. Avoiding the Obvious 789 7. Acceptance 790 8. Arguments with Fate and Destiny 791 9. Getting Over It, and On With Life 2002 10. Answer Key 3190 |
The Answer Key Tommy skipped along the sidewalk on his way to Happy Lane Elementary School. Today was Friday and Mrs Twiddle had promised the class a test, a HARD test. But Tommy was smiling. That was surprising because Tommy was a notoriously poor test taker. A C was a good grade for him. He had seen more D's and F's than any other kid in his class. And yet, today, on a test day, Tommy was happy. He was confident. He was self-assured. Why? Because he had something in his pocket, something that was going to make all the difference in the world. |
Pegs Why are there always so many pegs? How do pegs get so large in number? Well down at pegs r us we are going to let you in on a little secret that has kept us going for centuries. The way we make so many pegs is not through machines oh no, let me show you. |
Pegleg Pete The sun shone bright on a sea as calm as glass. A pirate ship sat becalmed, its sails hanging limp. "Avast, ye hardies! Who's the scalliwag that pizened me parrot? Speak up or I'll make every last one of ye walk the plank! Aye, that I will. Arrrgghh!" |
A Person To Remember "I'm so sorry, I have to go," he says as he starts to pack his bags. "Remember Alex, I love you. I always will." And with that he put all of his things into the car and drove away. Knowing that he would never return to darken the doorways again I started to try and do things to take my mind off him. But everything reminded me of him, that's the wall that we painted together, and that's the time that we had trouble with the stove. All this cleaning that he left me with, usually I don't mind cleaning up after him, but this time it's different. I keep looking out the window imagining that he is going to come back. Will he? Won't he? I really hope he does, but what if he doesn't? Why did he have to leave? Was it because of me or was it something else? I decide to let those thoughts go for a while and call up a caring friend and talk to them. "Hi, Chris, it's Alex...he's gone, he left me," |
That Was Then “Those are your dreams Mama, not mine.” Her daughter’s harsh words took her by surprise. Who wouldn’t want to bake cookies? “I just thought it would be fun, since it’s been quite a while since we baked cookies together.” “It’s much easier to just go to the store, buy several packages of good cookies, arrange them on a platter, and be finished with the whole ordeal. Why would you want to spend so much time making cookies, and make such a mess just to make a few dozen homemade cookies?” “Homemade cookies are fresher, and better than anything you can buy prepackaged. Okay, you don’t want to bake cookies, so then would you like to quilt with me today?” “Why would I want to quilt? I can just go to Wal-Mart and buy a hand-stitched quilt for less than thirty dollars.” “Well then would you like to make bird seed ornaments?” “Mama, just stop it! I’m grown now, I’m no longer a child that needs to be entertained, and I don’t want to make anything I can buy cheaper than I can make. I don’t have time for this kind of nonsense anymore.” “We use to do these things. We use to quilt. We use to bake cookies. You use to enjoy doing these things. We use to make bird seed ornaments, and watch the birds flock to enjoy our delicious homemade treats. We did have fun, don’t you remember?” “Yes mama, I remember, but that was then and this is now.” “Well then, what would you like to do today?” “Let’s go to the Mall.” “And do what at the Mall? The Mall is going to be a crowded mad house. Why would I want to go to the Mall with hundreds of other people who are walking around shopping for god knows what? I haven’t lost anything at the Mall.” “I’ll call you later mama. I’m going to the Mall.” “Wait! Okay, I’ll go to the Mall with you if you’ll let me push my granddaughter around in her stroller?” “Whatever mama, let’s just go.” |
Rhumba Rhonda The air hung hot damp and heavy in the alleys of shantytown. Rhumba Rhonda lay sprawled in the dirt behind Mama Pepito's rum house. Too much rum for Rhonda. It seemed like she was drunk all the time these days. "Whatsa matter, Rhonda?" her sister Faye had asked the night before. "You got a problem?" But Rhonda wouldn't confide in Faye and that set Faye to wondering. What was Rhonda's problem and why was she drinking so much rum? But then the pounding drums of Rudolfo's Rhumba Band had begun to play and Faye had lost all interest in the problems of her sister. |
Rain Brings Wonder It was raining outside, the kinda day that Toni thought would never stop. She looked outside and went to her mother in the lounge room who was lying sick and slowly fading away. She wondered what would happen that very day. Would she be able to enjoy writing again as normal or would she hear from somebody? When she heard her doorbell ring, that was when things really started getting strange. "Hello?" a man said at the door. "Father!" she said, looking at him. Here was the man standing right in front of her that had beaten her from the age of 5 to the age of 12. Her mother was scared. She had never gotten a court order against him, he had just sort of disappeared. She didn't know what to do so she... |
New Year's Eve Adam straightened his tie and winked at himself in the mirror. It was December 31st and tonight he would meet his new girlfriend. Following a tradition he had set for himself way back in Razorback Valley Bible College, he always had a girlfriend named Eve and every year he found a new one. This year he decided it was going to be a blonde -- very exciting -- so Adam looked forward to meeting his New Year's Eve. |
| Something Blew Up! "Damn my computer!" Holly said staring at her computer screen which was now pitch black. "What is it?" asked Nicole who was on the phone to her at the time. "It just blew up Nicole! It's awful!" Nicole starts imagining what her friend could mean by blew up. "Surely it didn't?" Nicole asked. "It did! Have I ever lied to you before?" Holly asked. "Well...I suppose not.." Nicole said, "but who would have stuck dynamite on your computer and are you ok?" |
| Six o’clock in the morning, the sun begun to rise. She walked into her room and knocks the door. There’s no answer, so she slowly pull the door and get in. She is still asleep. She come closer and sat beside her and tap her shoulder.” Alice woke up, you should get yourself ready, and He would be in an hour”. She open her eyes and yaw while stretching her arms.” Mom I don’t want to meet him, you know I’m tired of making polite conversation with a complete stranger”. She said irritably “Honey, he is no longer stranger to you, remember you already meet him once”. “Yeah! Once but I was just six or seven years. That was seventeen years ago. And I’m not interested to see him. She walked out from the bed and sit on the chair facing the mirror and combing her hair. ”Honey, please listen to me, I only want what’s best for you”. ”Yeah Mom, I know that, but…”Alice he is a good man, I know his family well. And we had agreed with your father before he pass away that if ever you would have someone in your life, it should be closer to our family, so I would be sure that he would take good care of you”. She would feel guilty, if she would refuse her mother’s favor.” Okay mom, you win! |
| The End of the Line So in walks this dude with a bad attitude and pushes me off my stool. I'm sprawled on the floor. "Punk!" he shouts and spits at me. I jump up and grab his hand, the one with the knife in it, because if I don't grab his hand then he's gonna stick that knife in my stomach. We wrestle around with me trying to make him drop the knife. Then somebody hits him on the head with a beer bottle. Conk! He falls to the floor, eyes closed. I stand there breathing hard. "Whew! What the hell was THAT all about?" |
| Dear Michelle, I have recently looked at your profile on dateless.com and have realised that we share a lot in common. Please write to me. Alex. Michelle gets of her computer wondering who this Alex is. Is he a boy or girl? What is so different about her profile that he or she would notice her and could this be the person she's been dreaming about all of her life. |
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