For years the S.O.B. told me I had no sense of direction, the worst navigator he’d ever seen. How was it my fault he’d go left when I said right?
“Where is my breakfast, what did you get lost?” The prick used to tell me he was amazed I could find the kitchen in the mornings.
Being berated for my navigation skills was the easy stuff. He’d get absolutely incensed and take every opportunity to make me feel like I was six inches tall, worthless. I can assure you I had no trouble finding the rat poison he kept in the cellar. Extra Warfarin in his scramble to go with his prescription.
That was then, but as I attempt to jump a train to freedom I’m left wondering if I will ever be able to decipher this bloody map.
“Come on, come on!” It’s only a matter of time before they find the body. As panic grips me and everything comes flooding back, I begin to wonder, “Was he right?”
Welcome to the inaugural Creative Writing Monthly. Think of the challenge as an opportunity to write something a little longer than the short flash fiction prompts we all love to participate in daily. Each month Greg’s Blog will prompt the writer with a concept, topic, and/or genre to help jumpstart the creative process. All you have to do is write. The length of your work should end up somewhere between 750 and 1500 words. That falls right on the boundary between a longer work of flash fiction and a short short story. Thus, giving you the opportunity to develop characters and build more elaborate plotlines. Something that is difficult to attain when responding to word prompts, sentence limits and 100-word maximum stories.
I understand longer stories take longer to write, edit, consternate over, rework, stew about, and/or rewrite… As such the inaugural edition of CWM will run for two months, until July 31st and will include a glimpse of August’s prompt. Subsequent challenge posts will consist of the current challenge plus a glimpse of upcoming prompts for the next two challenges. In essence, three full months for those who prefer a headstart. For the rest of us who like to procrastinate, just follow my lead and keep telling yourself you work better under pressure!
The plan is to drop each monthly challenge on the last Thursday of the preceding month. So if you want to try something with more meat on the bones, check back for a new challenge monthly.
I know I published the preview post at the beginning of June but today is the official launch of Creative Writing Monthly. For all of those who posted to the preview, I will ensure your stories are included in the inaugural wrap-up on the first Greg’s Blog Sunday Digest of August. Feel free to repost your link here if you want but know it is not necessary. Thank you for participating.
July 2023 Challenge Prompt:
Write a story about a new beginning, fresh start or new challenge.
Does the protagonist face the new situation head-on, crumble under pressure, or revert to old habits? How does the journey change them and affect those around them? Let the prompt be your guide.
I look forward to reading what you conjure up. Don’t forget to show your fellow bloggers some love -❤️- take some time to read, like, and comment on their responses.
Upcoming Challenges
Month
Topic
August
Write a story about summer camp, a wilderness vacation or a day in the great outdoors.
September
Write a fictional story based on a real life moment, event or memory from your days in grade school memory.
When Ida discovered that she could hear the voices of the dead speaking to her when she tuned into a certain radio station, she decided to change the station.
Well maybe not right away but as she sat in the courtroom listening to the Crown Attorney describe the trail of death and destruction she’d left in her wake it became evident.
“Forty-one injured and 17 dead in all Your Honour. Several were shot where they stood, and others were stabbed waiting for the bus or standing in line at the gas bar convenience. Three more were taken when the accused set that same gas bar alight. All blown to bits in the ensuing explosion including one poor soul whose legs were found sheared off just below the knees, still standing in front of the toilet where he’d been peacefully relieving himself.”
Was this ever going to end she thought but the anger in his voice kept rising as he continued, “Still more, run down in the street by the rust-coloured pickup truck she’d stolen from her ex, a.k.a. victim one. Mostly unaware of their fate as they went about their daily business and she’d have us all believe it was voices…” he paused momentarily before speaking again with greater emphasis. “VOICES OF THE DEAD – that made her do it.”
“Do you have anything to say to this court Ida?” the Judge asked.
Her own barrister counselled her to remain silent but how could she not say something. The families needed an explanation, closure.
“Well, your honour, maybe –” a quiver present in her voice. “Maybe I should have changed the station sooner.”
“…and on the left is Berg Eltz,” the guide delivers the canned script from rote. His German-accented English spills from the tour bus speakers as he navigates the narrow Elzbach River valley road. “The castle has been owned by the same family for over eight hundred yea…”
Elise’s mind wanders until the even temperament of his voice only fills the background spaces in her head.
Why did she want to see castles, Prince Charming was never coming. Hell at this point the evil Prince would do. She imagined being locked in the highest turret. A plaything to be ravished beneath the full moon, her hungry bones left to wait for the next time. Her mother insisted girls like them were destined for more mundane fates with men who were far less interesting. Men like her Dad who worked his fingers to the bone, sweating blood and tears just to survive.
Unknown
The bus stopped at the end of the long stone walkway leading to the entrance of Eltz. For the next two hours, the historic castle would be her playground. Her travel companions opted for the guided tour while Elise chose to walk the halls and grounds alone. ‘Bleiben Sie hinter der Linie’, ignoring the signs she sat on the edge of the Prince’s bed. A moment later she swung her feet up and lay back. The room was much smaller than she expected but it didn’t matter. She watched the door, expecting him to walk through at any moment, no one came.
As the stopover came to an end she thought of her own smaller castle back in Omaha. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. The thought of removing her glass slippers felt liberating. Pulling them from her feet she set them on the stone wall and walked barefoot onto the bus.
At the next stop Elise sat for a moment, not sure if this was scheduled or if the bus had broken down. As she looked out over the scenic countryside, she caught movement in her periphery. Turning her head and setting her eyes on a tall, dark and extremely handsome man. He was heading right toward her while he motioned with his hands.
Unknown
“Excuse me, excuse me… I think you left these at Berg Eltz.”
She nodded.
“I need to be certain,” he said as he dropped to one knee.
She raised her leg to meet his hand and he slid the slipper onto her foot…
Welcome to Four Line Fiction, a pix-to-prose challenge. Each Tuesday, at 9:00am Eastern Time (Canada/United States) I will post an image I have captured myself, featured from another blog or plucked from one of the Interweb’s many royalty-free image sites. You as the writer are to use that image as a point of inspiration to craft a masterpiece of fiction in four lines.
This week’s image depicts a grey and white cat with a tinge of orange fur on its head sitting on an old bicycle rim and tire. The cat is camouflaged against a grey and white three-panel, rust-speckled background. The background panel at the right of the image is clearly marked with a left-hand print.
Be creative and have fun. I look forward to reading the tales you spin. Don’t forget to show your fellow bloggers some love -❤️- take some time to read, like, and comment on their masterpieces.
Spring, summer, winter, fall, rainy or dry, the seasons are born of a celestial love story.
Theia, travelling cold and alone through Sol’s domain. Oblivious to a fate inexorably tied to the maiden planet set within its path. Drawn towards the fiery sphere’s beauty, racing towards the edge of her influence not realizing he had moved beyond the point of no return. Her gravity pulling him deeper into her well, towards a climax that will devour him and knock her off kilter.
The impact tilted her axis and gave rise to Earth’s seasons. The debris from their joining spilled into the night sky. The seeds of a new life filled the space around her. Coalescing over millennia to birth a child from nothing more than a chance meeting. Their child, forever in lockstep with its mother, gentling shaping and reshaping her shorelines as it circles her.
Theia may no longer roam through Sol’s domain but his legacy lives on in the night sky. Its DNA is embedded in the Earth and the Moon, marking the months as Earth continues her journey around the Sun.
Welcome to Four Line Fiction, a pix-to-prose challenge. Each Tuesday, at 9:00am Eastern Time (Canada/United States) I will post an image I have captured myself, featured from another blog or plucked from one of the Interweb’s many royalty-free image sites. You as the writer are to use that image as a point of inspiration to craft a masterpiece of fiction in four lines.
This week’s image depicts three-quarters of an antique typewriter cropped along the right edge of the image. The aerial point of view shows the typewriter sitting on a darkly stained rustic wood table, its boards filling the entire background of the picture.
Be creative and have fun. I look forward to reading the tales you spin. Don’t forget to show your fellow bloggers some love -❤️- take some time to read, like, and comment on their masterpieces.
It had been a long night. The club manager demanded she stay, a plaything for some VIP clients who were looking for more than drinks and dances. Saying “No” was never an option, at least she’d earn some extra cash but it meant her boy would be alone. The sitter couldn’t stay any later, she had to get to her own job in the morning. Hopefully, he’d sleep in and not notice she was missing.
Tired, sore and feeling dirty and used she pushed on the small door that swung inwards revealing the tenement flat she called home. Exhausted, she stepped inside and as she approached him, fear flashed in his eyes. He dropped the gun on the sofa and told her he didn’t do it.
Strewn across the milk crate coffee table and old worn couch she’d salvaged from the dumpster out back lay her old photo albums. The pages were torn and set adrift in a sea of unwashed dishes, an overflowing ashtray, and other shit. Every picture had been removed and hot-glued to the furniture and walls of their one-room prison. Surreal, the scene played like a 3D movie around her. Their tiny life illuminated in the orange and yellow glow of sunrise streaming in bands through the bars of the apartments only window.
“I know,” she said. How could she be angry with him, it wasn’t his fault. Her knees buckled as a wave of guilt and shame crashed into her, taking her breath and making it difficult to draw another. She wrapped her arms around her seven-year-old miracle and began to sob.
He squeezed back and said, “It’s going to be okay Mommy. Please don’t cry.”
Unknown / Post-processing by Greg Glazebrook @ GMGCreative
Dad’s Lessons
The summer of ’63. Jinny and I talk about running off in that old Sharknose Ford. God knows what we’d have gotten up to in the flatbed. Me, a sixteen-year-old life support system for a boner and Jinny completely smitten. Nothing good could have come from two teenagers high on the hormones of youth.
“Patience,” he’d say gripping the keys in his dirt-stained hands. “You’ll be the driver someday.”
God knows where we’d be if he’d let us run wild. Dad’s gone but Jinny and me still look something spectacular sitting in the front seat of that old truck.
Unknown / Composite image created by Greg Glazebrook @ GMGCreative
Welcome to Four Line Fiction, a pix-to-prose challenge. Each Tuesday, at 9:00am Eastern Time (Canada/United States) I will post an image I have captured myself, featured from another blog or plucked from one of the Interweb’s many royalty-free image sites. You as the writer are to use that image as a point of inspiration to craft a masterpiece of fiction in four lines.
I posted this image last week and got no responses however it such a great image I thought I’d try again this is week…
This week’s monochromatic image depicts a man busking on a subway station platform as a couple of people wait for their train. In the background, a train crossed through the image in a blur of motion.
Be creative and have fun. I look forward to reading the tales you spin. Don’t forget to show your fellow bloggers some love -❤️- take some time to read, like, and comment on their masterpieces.
Greg's Blog 