Welcome to Four Line Fiction, a pix-to-prose challenge re-launch. It has been difficult to keep up with this feature that disappeared mid-summer. I am bringing it back but will now run every other week in the same 9:00am Eastern Time (Canada/United States) time slot. The concept will be the same as previous. 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.
Image: Abandon Houses / Abandon, Decaying and Forgotten Group – Facebook
This week’s image depicts a abandon home slowly decaying into its surroundings. The monochromatic scene is offset by red 1960s/70s style Volkswagen Beetle windows busted out and rusting in the foreground.
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 weeks (or so it seemed) since his holiness led our congregation on a hike into the wilderness. An expedition to seek our salvation. Mostly it was a mix of exhaustion, meditation, hallucinogenic tea, and the promise of something better. The promise seemed emptier with every step along this journey.
“Stop with this doubt, you’ve come such a along way.” I screamed to myself in a whisper, the palm of my hand smacking against my forehead.
It was difficult to hold a train of thought with my gut screaming at me like a muthafu… We’d been subsisting on the tea and some lukewarm liquid prepared by the congregation’s women weeks ago. It couldn’t have been real food because it didn’t seem to spoil. I was told it was designed to ensure we were pure in mind and body for the coming cleanse.
I joined a hunting party a couple of nights ago after Carl had retired. We’d fashioned makeshift bows and arrows and set out to catch anything we could find. A couple of rabbits made the untimate sacrifice, but the skinny rodents could only coughed up scraps. We built a small fire to cook our kill, but some were so hungry they picked the meat raw from the bone.
As the sun rose across the mountains and crept into our camp, His holiness Carl emerged from his tent. He was a slight man, unassuming in almost every way. His gifts were not physical but he could hold conversation, draw you into whatever narrative he was preaching. If just one of us had opened our eyes for even a moment it would have become evident that while we starved Carl thrived. I sure his concubines were in the know but the rest of us were too blind to see.
Morning always started with pray and a sermon from Carl but today was different. The usual routines were replaced with a sense of forboding. Today was the day we would ascend into the heavens. Everything we had brought with us, everything we’d made was gathered into the center of camp. A colossal column of smoke rising into the morning air casting a dark shadow over the clearing, blotting out the morning sun. Some now realizing this was a one way trip.
The hike seems lighter and somehow heavier today as we moved through the trees. “Are you coming or not?” Carl demanded as he took a few steps further onto the small ledge. He raised his arms and began to chant something in tongues. The line behind him had stopped moving, gripped with a new fear. Many believing flying was only a metaphor.
“It is our time to soar on the wings of God. Who will offer themselves up first.” he said as the the ringing of gunfire at the back ripped through the thin mountain air.
The echo jolting me back to reality as I tried to run from the trail. At the front, the crush pushing the congregation over the edge. Some, true believer spreading their wings as they fell over the precipice, other pushing agaisnt the tide to get back from the cusp. Fifteen, maybe 20 paces from the trail searing pain rip through my abdomen. Falling next to my wife and onto my two young children. Imploring them to remain calm and quiet. The life draining from my eyes praying, like it was the first time, that the plume of smoke had drawn someones attention.
What they see is happy-go-lucky, not a care in the world. Like cool watermelon dripping down a child chin in the hot, noon day sun or ice cream filled evenings walking the state fair midway. A kaleidoscope of happy colours swirling around a perfect life.
If only they could see the tears behind the façade. Years of unhealed scars festering beneath the surface. Small pieces if flesh taken with every new cut. Revealed in the only place it can’t be hidden, in the black of dead eyes nobody bothers to peer into.
Demons trapped and screaming to be released but like a wounded animal concealed from the predators circling. The world begging us to celebrate our weaknesses like a badge of honour. Sycophants waiting to pounce for their own benefit, but I will never reveal what’s eating away my insides, clawing to escape my control.
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.
Image: Greg Glazebrook / GMGPhotography
This week’s image depicts messy-haired boy (my boy) sitting at a restaurant table. His mouth is wide open waiting for that next spoonful of ice cream he has lifted to his lips. The image has been processed using an icy blue duotone filter with the text “I SCREAM, YOU SCREAM, WE ALL SCREAM FOR ICE CREAM” printed in block font across the bottom of the image.
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.
Every week, Fandango over at This, That and the Other posts a provocative question. This week’s question is…
“How do you feel about bloggers using AI-generated text to write their posts? How do you feel about bloggers using AI-generated artwork to illustrate their posts? Do your feelings differ between AI-generated blog posts and AI-generated images in bloggers’ posts?”
I suspect there are some huge benefits to AI if approached properly. As with everything there is the potential for bad. The ethical dilemma is enormous and I don’t think any of us can truly fathom how much our lives are controlled or influenced by AI and the enormous number of data points Meta, Google Apple and Microsoft collect and feed into these artificial brains. This does not even begin to touch on unfriendly regimes such China. The information they are collecting on each and every one of us will be used to undermine our politicians, corporations, even individuals and ultimately our freedom.
Fandango has asked us to comment on AI at a more personal level – in the blogosphere. There is no simple answer to his questions. I think it depends on the intended use and purpose for employing AI. There is no doubt a greater number of blogs are integrating AI technologies and the results can enhance the user experience. I am not opposed to such use however I do believe that the work needs to be credited properly.
For example, my Four Line Fiction post this week uses an image generated by DALL∙E, the AI brain behind Microsoft Bing’s Image Creator. The concept for the image was “a bird dressed in a tuxedo dining on a carcass”. The picture on the wall of the image below was one of four Microsoft’s AI brain spit out. The final image including the wall and staircase was created using Microsoft Designer, another AI-driven app you can use to edit/refine the final product. It can be accessed by clicking the Customize link next to the AI-generated image at Bing. Once the design was finished I credited the image as shown below.
Concept: Greg Glazebrook / GMGCreative | Image: DALL∙E / Microsoft
I think my approach to crediting the image strikes a balance and makes the reader/viewer aware that the image was artificially generated. It is fair for the artist/blogger to take credit for the concept, but not the actual image/artwork.
Here are some images Nate, my seven-year-old son conceptualized for fun this morning. Does this make him an artist? All images were produced by DALL∙E / Microsoft.
“a tree wearing a tuxedo”
“a cat wearing a train costume”
“a dog wearing a cat costume”
“a lion with long sharp nails cutting through prison bars”
I am a lot less interested in AI writing generators for blog posts. At least in the realm of creative writing. I can see the uses in business, advertising or technical writing but having something written in the creative sphere feels like cheating.
That said, I have been toying with the idea of a sister site to Greg’s Blog. It is currently in development using the working title “Randomly Generated Twaddle”. Admittedly the idea has stalled because I’m not sure if there would be much interest and my own time constraints. The RGT concept would use AI-generated content to respond to the myriad of daily and weekly writing prompts many of us post and respond to around the blogosphere. The blog concept was meant to be an AI experiment as opposed to a purely creative endeavour. The key being the reader would always be aware that the content was AI generated as that was kind of the point. If you think this might be a worthwhile endeavour let me know and maybe I will consider resurrecting it.
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.
Concept: Greg Glazebrook / GMGCreative | Image: DALL∙E / Microsoft
This week’s image was conceptualized as “bird dressed in a tuxedo dining on a carcass“ and generated using Microsoft’s DALL∙E AI image generator. Additional editing was done using Microsoft Designer. The landscape oriented image depicts a grey wall with a free floating wood stair case leading up to the left. On the right , hangs a picture of a raven wearing a tuxedo as it feasts on a carcass.
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.
John Ronald lay in bed struggling to breathe, each drag more laborious than the previous. He knew the end was near, his lungs were filling with blood and fluid faster than his body could work to clear them. Making peace with the inevitable, he closed his eyes and waited. His wife had long since crossed over and there was nothing left for him to hang on to in this world. His kids, standing at his side in these final moments, would get on just fine after he’d gone. They were supposed to outlive him anyway.
At ease, he began to drift. Aimless at first but soon he was riding the crest of a current pulling him toward the light. Moving faster as his life passed before him until he was immersed in the glow. Everything faded in an instant as he crossed the threshold. Nothing more than a brief flash before arriving in a small shire on the other side.
Drawing in a long easy breath, he surveyed his new, yet familiar surroundings. There was an energy about this place that bristled through the thick morning mist. Although he could only glimpse moments of movement through the scattering sunlight, the bustle of this place was evident. The inhabitants flitted and danced about their business, filling the sweetly scented air with joy, song and raucous laughter.
As the air cleared and the scene settled into focus a shoeless half-man in a green vest, grey shirt and potato sack pants stepped up next to him. The halfling paused, taking a moment to look out across the scene before them. Then scrunching up his face he spoke, “Welcome! Welcome, Mr. Tolkien, it is a pleasure to have you back in Hobbiton. Your place in the hillside is ready for you and as luck would have it, you are just in time for second breakfast.”
It was hot as Sadie stepped into the barn. Her grass-fed organically raised family, back from a day in the pasture. The herd lowed as she pulled on her boots and gloves. Bessie was waiting as always for Sadie to set the stool at her side. A few fruitless tugs and then relief as milk began to flow from her engorged teats.
There were pumps, feed and other technology designed to increase yield and productivity, but Sadie found something relaxing about the sound of milk ringing against the interior. “Wholesome, sustainable farming, our commitment freshly expressed into every can.”
Well, aside from one post about a week ago I have been conspicuously absent. I wrote about it in that last post but still haven’t made it back to the blog. It really is just summer and family that has kept me away. When the weather turns nice and Nate is home from school it is more difficult to spend time in front of a computer.
Unlike some bloggers, I just can’t wrap my head around blogging from my phone. Sure pictures and the like are fairly easy to post but finding the train of thought to write on a small keyboard eludes me. Maybe it’s my age showing but that just sounds like an excuse. Many of the bloggers I follow who are older than me have no problems with their phones. So I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I mean I still carry cash, in a wallet, I think Twitter’s rebrand to X is ridiculous (oh wait so does pretty much everyone else), and I believe Facebook (Meta for the youngins) and Google are only interested in collecting my data to further line their pockets with my small amounts of gold. I still worry about privacy although I’m probably not very good at protecting mine. As for China, I make a conscious effort to not buy shit from the commie bastards (yep, they are the new Soviet Union) and TikTok even if they set up some independent American subsidiary is a massive no-go zone. They won’t fool me like they have fooled today’s youth.
Jesus, it sounds like I’m only one step away from pulling my pants up to my armpits, wearing Tilly hats and griping about everything, especially dem kids, and calling bylaw enforcement because I’m lonely.
On that same note, I appear to be living in my musical past. These last few weeks have been the 70s and 80s music nonstop. On that note, I have two tracks for you from Joy Division and their reincarnation as New Order following the suicide of Ian Curtis.
The week in review…
Actually it’s the last three weeks in review. Thanks to everyone who has participated.
T-Shirt Wisdom | The most recent installment of this bi-weekly feature.
Next week…
Five Word Weekly and the return of Four Line Fiction plus another installment of T-Shirt Wisdom are on tap. Don’t forget your entry for July’s Creative Writing Monthly is due by July 31st. Yikes that almost sounded like homework!
The prosecutor began his summation with vigorous enthusiasm, “In a display of utter cowardice, Mr. Kutinitov plunged the blade he carried with him right down to the marrow. Splaying the victim, his estranged wife wide open.”
“Ask yourself why?” he continued. “Sure, she had set fire to everything, exposing his philandering ways and singeing his reputation almost beyond repair. Certainly a motive in and of itself but his reason was even more basic, greed. You see, he wanted the engagement ring back, her ring, the one he’d given her along with his promise 13 years earlier. He’d spent a small fortune to buy it and he knew it had only appreciated in value. You heard his jeweller confirm that he had been to the shop to inquire about it and shortly thereafter broke into the marital home.”
He paused for effect before driving home his final point, “When he came for the ring, she refused and swallowed it to keep him from taking it. She could not have known that she had become an unwitting accessory to compromising her own survival. Her death was not a crime of passion as portrayed by the defence, it may not have been premeditated but his reasons for being there were cold, calculated and planned. As such you must find the defendant guilty. You know what’s right, return a verdict of murder in the first degree.”
Greg's Blog 