Photo by Eddie Kopp on Unsplash
Walking hurt, but her tattered wings weren’t up to supporting her weight, so on she trudged. Meadowbrook winced, promising herself she could rest when she reached the end of the blight. There had to be somewhere, anywhere, green still lived. Her eyes too dry to cry and water the endless dirt which used to be the grass of her meadow.
(words 60; first published 3/4/2023, from a FB visual prompt for a writing group I belong to – aiming for 50 words)
Photo by Wan San Yip on Unsplash
Ping-Pong Dialog (cut and paste from an editing cover letter)
In many places of dialog, a “ping-pong” is happening where one person speaks then another, and each time the person’s name appears at the beginning with no variation of sentence structure. Often the concentration on the two speakers creates a “white box” effect, where nothing else is known about the room or body language or the speakers.
Pretend example
Ping snorted. “I really wish the ball would stay on your side of the table.”
Pong raised an eyebrow. “In your dreams.”
Ping slapped the ball back across the table. “I’m better than you, admit it,” he said.
Pong sighed and tapped a return. “Why would I do that?” she asked.
Ping dived but missed the return. “Because I’m right.” Shaking his head, he went to pick up the ball.
Better would be
Ping snorted, before saying. “I really wish the ball would stay on your side of the table.”
Pong raised an eyebrow, a smug smile crossing her visage. “In your dreams.”
“I’m better than you, admit it.” Ping slapped the ball back across the table.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because, I’m,” Pong’s gentle return had a backspin, making Ping dive too late. “…right.” He sighed, ending his failed trash-talk while watching the ball roll into the corner. Shaking his head, he went to pick up the ball.
More Editing Rant
If we can’t tell who is saying every line without the author telling us, something is wrong. We don’t need to know Ping then Pong spoke. Second, more variation of dialog is needed. Quoted speaking part can lead, or follow, or be split by the narrative. Having it all be Narrative then Speaking part is boring. Boring is death.
Don’t be boring. Or predictable. Or Ping-Pong.
Photo 276330 © Kiankhoon | Dreamstime.com
Word count achieved! And at the perfect finish point for the chapter.
Morgan closed the file, resaved it locally, to her USB stick, and to the cloud under draft thirty-four. She made a note on her outline and typed in the opening sentence to the next chapter.
“Fighting for what is right is never wrong.”
Too cliquish? Yeah, and in the entirely wrong voice for the POV character of this chapter. Good thing she had time to sleep on it before tackling the next chapter. All, she blinked her tired eyes to focus on the date-time in the bottom right corner of her laptop, three hours and fifteen minutes before getting up in time to get the kids off to school. Tomorrow will be a long day at the office.
Sharpie was doing the cat thing, staring at nothing and hissing. If Morgan didn’t know better, she would think their home was haunted, but it had only been built five years ago. No ghosts here.
She leaned down to pick up the family calico to take him and the laptop in for the night. Sharpie darted forward toward the laundry room, making Morgan overbalance reaching for her, falling flat, her hands saving her from a full face plant. The air sizzling over her head kept her down.
Morgan lifted her chin up. Shapie hovered midair, clinging to … something. Not a ghost. Ghost didn’t shake around while claws dug in.
She rolled to the side, landing against an oversized planter and reached into the waterproof holder beneath the orange tree for the revolver she kept there since finding the copperhead in the backyard last summer. Two shots to the torso, either side of Sharpie and two where she guessed the head should be. Since no drywall puffed up behind, she judged her target right. Hard to miss at this range.
She had gotten lucky in whoever they were missing her.
Sharpie rode the body down, until he hovered midair about a foot from the ground on the invisible being. The cat rocked back and forth, scratching and biting, indicating whatever was there was injured, not dead, and Sharpie was displeased with that status.
Standing, Morgan kept the handgun pointed at the danger. Two bullets left. Thank god she had trained to hit snakes to keep her children safe. She glanced at her laptop.
It was … partially missing. Not melted, just parts gone. Not broken. Nothing falling or blown back into the yard just beginning to become visible in the false dawn. Just missing.
She gulped.
Her eyes did one snap to the intact USB, breathing a silent breath of relief. Then made her way over to her cat imitating a rider on a bucking bronco.
A huge gun, more ridiculously complicated then her children’s bubble rifles for their water balloon wars, was visible to one side, its strap torn. She kicked it further away, wincing as soon as her foot made contact thinking: That was dumb. What if it went off?
She pointed the gun at the empty air. “Freeze motherfucker.”
Sharpie continued to bounce around on nothing, hissing.
Then Morgan heard the noise she was hoping she wouldn’t hear came.
“Mom,” Henry appeared at the other side of the laundry room, his ten-year scrawny body in front of his six and eight year old sisters,“what’s happening?”
“Don’t know yet Monster Man,” she nodded at Sharpie’s antics, “take your sisters and go next door to Fred’s. I’ll come get you when I can.”
“But–”
She sent Henry the Mom Look.
(words 592, first published 3/4/2023, Make the Mood Monday 500-word Expansion – one out of five of the FB group stories get expanded)
GoTime Series
GoTime (1/1/2023)
GoTime 2 (1/8/2023)
T is for Time (GoTime 3) (4/23/2023)
Photo from Unsplash
“Resolution complete. Matching timeline chronology.”
Go time, Monico thought as their eyes swept the darkened room, the green low-light goggles showing nothing on the infrared. Where is the target?
The AI embedded surgically into their head responded, “Target historically spent more time with their laptop on their back porch than in their bedroom.”
Of course they did.
Monico growled under their breath. They were not dressed to open doors conventionally, especially in this timeline with their stupid round doorknobs. They lifted one oversized glove off their dissolution transport and grasped the small metal at the side of the wooden plank, twisting carefully, having learned the right pressure during previous missions. Gently, after ordering the AI to scale back the pressure-response cycle throughout their mech suit, they pushed open the door.
Camouflage mode, stalking tread.
“Quiet as a mouse,” the AI assured them in a sing-song child voice, “fully activated.”
When did the computer in their head became more human than them?
“Merging-collapse of chronologics loops fifteen through nineteen. With related update 107.3.9.That’s when the magic happen.”
Joy. Four weeks subjective time. Monico slipped down the hallway through the twenty-first century open floor plan, monitoring their progress through the blueprints downloaded. The door in the laundry room, which doubled as a mudroom for the porch had the door open, letting in the crisp early Spring air for the backporch. This early in the season, at least in this timeline, bugs weren’t an issue yet.
Infrared signatures.
“Three heat sources. Laptop, cat, and linchpin.” The AI outlined the large shape marked linchpin, one of the dozen humans anchoring this timeline.
Monico raised their dissolution transporter to their shoulder to remove the human keeping the unwanted timeline functioning. Time to prune.
(words 288, first published 3/4/2023, from a FB visual prompt for a writing group I belong to – aiming for 50 words)
GoTime Series
GoTime (1/1/2023)
GoTime 2 (1/8/2023)
T is for Time (GoTime 3) (4/23/2023)
WRITING EXERCISE
Time for the December 50-word prompts writing exercise.
Quick reminder of the rules: Write two 50-word flashes. Aim for 50 words, give or take five extra words. Don’t read my attempts until after you do your own. Writing them directly in the comment section below will help you focus on the flash aspect – just getting words out.
TEXT PROMPT FOR 50-WORD FLASH: Work
VISUAL PROMPT FOR 50-WORD FLASH
Photo by Luke Ellis-Craven on Unsplash
My Attempts
TEXT PROMPT: Work
“Worth it, let me work it” pounded from the speakers. Franz watched the human mass below. Some women twerking were thicc. Sipping his whiskey, he wondered if anyone would notice if his glass sipped from his fingers. He didn’t get to find outs since his assassin pulled him back from the balcony’s edge. The glass fell to the sticky upper floor.
(first published 12/27/2022; 61 words)
VISUAL PROMPT
Gliding Cliff felt like the edge of the world. Clem breathed deep. Time to try this. After standing, he cracked spine, twisting his head left and right. One last deep breath, the better to scream with if it didn’t work.
He leapt. Come up – open up, open up, open up.
(first published 12/27/2022; 50 words)
Series: 50-word Prompts