Knuckle Bones – an ISG Writing Exercise

These three words were chosen:

• Clarity
• Rock
• Massage

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!

FEATURED AUTHOR

JM PAQUETTE:

The jeweler held the stone up to the light, one eye squinting as she took in the interior. “Not too bad,” she commented. “Decent clarity.” She let it fall to the square cloth on the counter and looked up at the visitor. “How much are you wanting to get out of it?”

“That depends,” he said, a charming smile working across his handsome face. “What kind of rock is it?”

She smirked at him, not falling for the charm at all. “The kind of rock I pay a certain amount of money for,” she told him, “and nothing more.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed, glancing around the small shop, where they were alone. “What if I could throw in something extra?” He laid his hands flat on the counter in front of him, fingers long and no doubt dexterous.

She considered, possibilities tumbling through her head. His fingers were long. She measured the length between the knuckles with a practiced eye. The bones would probably work for what she needed. Those tendons though… She looked up at him, suddenly welcoming. “That depends,” she said in a new low voice. “How are you at massages?” She used the opening to touch one of his hands, pressing against the fingers, testing the give of the joints.

“I’m so good,” he said, clearly thinking she was going for it. What the hell, she thought. It’s been a really long time. And I do need a whole new set of knuckle bones.

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LISA BARRY:

Bennie stared at the her now ex-boyfriends back as he walked away. The clarity that had overcome her this morning was fading as melancholy set in. She’d been so used to having him around, she couldn’t quite imagine the void and yet here she was turning away from him and heading home.

He had been a rock for her but the realization she’d had this morning was that she was not the same for him.

On a hunch, she followed him to his work only he didn’t go to work. He went to the bar. In the morning. She didn’t even know such things might be open at that time. Bennie had gone to two of her own appointments, delivering massage to clients at home and then went back to that bar. He was still there. She waited for another hour before he left, a bottle of water in hand while chewing a huge piece of gum.

The sameness was ending but so were the lies. Bennie opened her front door and looked around. She smiled. New beginnings weren’t always that bad.

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NICOLE DRAGONBECK:

Riel was relieved to see the ranger, despite the fairy’s misgivings. This adventuring business was not within Riel’s usual scope of activity, and the twists and turns of political intrigue in attempting to overthrow the king did not lend any particular clarity to what was the right path. Something about the man with the smokey blue eyes and grey beard gave a confidence that it would all turn out alright in the end. “But,” the ranger continued. “I’ve brought someone that might set your mind at ease.” The fairy massaged the bridge of his pointy nose, looking pained. “You’ve brought someone else? What are you trying to do?” The ranger shrugged. “In times like these, you look for friends wherever you find them.” “Well, where is this new companion?” Riel asked. The ranger put his fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle, making the fairy jump. Something large stirred in the trees behind them, and a creature that looked to be made of crystalline rock lumbered into the clearing, making the forest feel very cramped all of a sudden.

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JACKLYNE BARD:

Michael shrugged, completely unabashed or even faintly aware of what he did wrong. Andrea stared at him, a new sense of clarity washed over her suddenly and she looked down at the rock in her hand.

“Oh, baby, you’re right! That’s a great idea. Come here and I’ll give you a massage. You must be tired from your transformation.” She said in a sickly sweet voice.

Michael looked at her warily for a moment, not sure if she was being sincere or not. She sometimes liked to trick him. His vampire senses told him something was off. But he brushed it off, she was his girlfriend after all, what was she going to do to him?

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Sent by the Dark King – an ISG Writing Exercise

These three words were chosen:

• Ukulele
• Vinyl
• Flying

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!

FEATURED AUTHOR

NICOLE DRAGONBECK:

The fairy sat on the giant roots of the ancient oak tree, one leg crossed over the other, strumming a glowing ukulele, a thoughtful expression lending a gravity to the song at odds with the lilting notes. Riel waited nervously, a sinking feeling in his stomach warning him that he would not like what the small creature had to say.

“I think that we may have to leave without him,” the fairy finally announced. The forest glade was suddenly silent as the music died away, the sound flying away as if chased by dark shadows.

“What?” Riel said, his jaw slack with shock. “How can you say that? We need him to guide us back!”.

The fairy stood up, his red jacket gleaming like new vinyl, black eyes narrowed at Riel. “He’s not here, is he? Or is he hiding, perhaps between the leaves?”

Riel was forced to shake his head, and the fairy’s fierce expression softened. “Besides, how can you be sure he’s not a spy, sent by the Dark King to foil our plan?”

“You can’t,” a voice announced as a tall, lean man in the dark clothes of a ranger stepped into the open clearing. “But you don’t really have a choice, do you?”

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LISA BARRY:

The ukulele sounded particularly loud over the speaker this morning.

Sammy stared daggers at teacher who industriously wrote on the chalkboard while the sounds of the morning speech were intro’d by the odd twang. The vinyl that hung over the windows blocking the view from the outdoors and sun was causing Sammy to twitch. The class was dim, the ukulele ground into her nerves and the chattering of the other students made her snap. Literally. Sammy’s pencil broke, one part landing on the floor and the other flying across the room. Sammy stood to retrieve it when the teacher turned just in time for the point of the pencil to whack him in the mouth. He bellowed right before his eyes met hers. He pointed at the door.

“Out!”

Sammy scrambled to collect her things and run for the door.

Freedom.

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JM PAQUETTE:

“What the hell are we listening to?” the demon demanded, staring hard at his current owner from across the table.

“It’s masterworks on the ukulele,” the man replied, frowning at his prisoner. “Have you never heard it before?”

The demon made a face, lifting his hands to cover his long ears dramatically. “I have. In Hawaii. Where they had volcanoes and plenty of willing virgins.” He glared at the magician. “There’s a reason I live on the mainland.”

“How can you not enjoy this sound?” the man asked. “It’s even on vinyl! That just amplifies the quality.”

“Yes, the quality that makes my ears want to start bleeding,” the demon snapped. “Can we just get to it already? Tell me what you want.”

The magician’s face grew hard, and the demon sensed the power that had called him to this man’s circle. “You do not get to demand things of me,” he said in a low voice. “You are here at my mercy.”

The demon nodded, face respectful, tucking his fangs back behind his lips even as he imagined the body of the magician flying through the glass window and down the thirty stories to the street below. That would not do, he decided. One with this much power might be able to actually fly, saving himself from death and drawing out their agreement even longer.

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JACKLYNE BARD:

The ukulele went flying across the room. “Babe, stop!” Michael said as he dodged the offending object. “I swear it’s not that big of a deal!” He continued, narrowly escaping a vinyl record aimed for his neck.

“NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL??” His girlfriend, Andrea screamed, red in the face. “Are you kidding me? I’m a vampire hunter! Why in the world would this be no big deal?”

Michael thought for a second. “Well now I work the night shift easily!” He smiled, showing off his new vampire fangs.

She growled in frustration, pulling at her hair. “I can’t believe you have lived this long!”

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Miscalibrated – an ISG Writing Exercise

These three words were chosen:

• Instrument
• Redhead
• Globe

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!

FEATURED AUTHOR

DESIREE MATLOCK:

The fourth time the redhead walked past in the same five minute loop, I realized I’d miscalibrated the volume, a digital set made of screens. It needed to be ready for the next shot in less than ten minutes. From here, so long as you mostly looked north-ish, you could believe you truly were in a library complete with dust, but the repeating loop was obviously too short, and if the actors arrived before I’d created a longer loop for the volume to work with, I’d be out of a production assistant job.

After I walked to the instruments just beyond the entrance, tapped in the new parameters and then checked the result, I felt an odd snap of electricity run up my spine as I re-entered the volume. Strange. I shook it off, tested everything, and felt pretty satisfied with my work. I turned around to leave, calling for the director’s team to double check my work, but as I turned to where the bank of cameras should have been, I saw only the librarian’s desk, with a stack of books, a stamp and a globe. Neither had been there earlier. Obviously. A volume is just screens.

Regardless, the librarian looked up and smiled knowingly at me.

“Welcome. The others are just over there”, she said, pointing to my left.

www.DesisTwoCents.com

LISA BARRY:

Lucas spun the globe absently as he watched his father make the final notation in his estate book. His father, Baron Charles Northwyn looked up and frowned.

“You will have to learn sooner than later, my boy. I am not getting any younger.”

Lucas raised a a single brow.

“Surely not, father. You are but six and thirty. His father’s lips pressed thin.

“You never know what will happen.” He whispered. Lucas felt his ears redden. His Grandfather had passed very young and it had slipped Lucas mind.

His father stood, brushing his hair from his forehead. Lucas was a full redhead where his father’s own hair was more gray than red.

“Grab your instrument, and we will be off,” his father stated with no space for objection.

Lucas rushed to get his lute and follow his Father toward the picnic.

As they left the house, a woman rushed up, her dress torn.

“Sirs,” she dipped into a low bow, I beg your help.”

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JM PAQUETTE:

Joseph stared hard at the redhead who stood in the center of the circle of cloaked figures, taking a step back to avoid the slowly expanding globe that surrounded them.

“I know you said this was bad,” he commented to the demon standing next to him, “but you didn’t say it was like instrument-of-the-devil bad.”

“The devil doesn’t play an instrument,” the demon replied in a gruff voice.

“Really?” Joseph was surprised. “What’s with all that guitar stuff, then?”

“Guitar stuff?” the creature echoed, clearly confused.

“You know, like meet the devil at the crossroads and he’ll teach you to play guitar in exchange for your soul.”

“You think they are trying to learn to play guitar?” the demon asked, gesturing to the group performing the ritual in front of them. They took another bigger step back as the globe expanded some more.

“What? No. I think they’re trying to rule the world.”

“Good,” the demon muttered. “The devil can’t play guitar. But he does rule the world. I don’t think he’ll be very happy with them trying to take his job.”

“Probably not. You think he’ll show up to do something?”

The demon just looked at him.

Joseph sighed heavily, removing the wand from inside his coat. “I guess we should stop them then,” he suggested, taking another step backward. Whatever the ritual was supposed to accomplish, it looked like it was working well so far. “Maybe you go in first this time?”

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JACKLYNE BARD:

There was an ominous glow from the instrument in the man’s hand. The redhead on the operating table struggled against his bonds, terror making his movements agitated.

“Please!” He screamed, tears rolling down his face. “I didn’t do anything!!!”

The man only smiled, crooked yellow teeth glistened evilly in the dim light. The instrument, a scalpel, was slowly coming toward the flaming red hair.

BANG!

The globe in the corner fell off the table nearby. The man jumped, dropping the scalpel as he stared down the barrel of a sawed off shotgun.

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Miscreants – an ISG Writing Exercise

These three words were chosen:

• Moon
• Boxes
• Snacks

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!

FEATURED AUTHOR

ANNE CARGILE:

Ophelia wasn’t sure quite what to do.  She pursed her lips and tapped one long fingernail delicately against them as she thought. Jackson had been quite a pain lately.  Nothing seemed to work to bring him in line.  Ever since the moon had frozen and refused to revert from full all the weres and shapeshifters had been irascible. She grunted. That was an understatement.

She looked at the miscreants sitting before her, all lined up in their cages, neatly boxed and restrained and wondered what to do.  She really couldn’t have them eating each other.  She had a plantation to run, and until recently the cats and mice and other critters had all been willing to forgo their shifted persona animosity. She’d made every sort of threat she could, but nothing worked.

In a final burst of frustration, she told them, “In China you’d be a delicacy, a snack for the most discerning palates, and this your last chance!” She felt a certain satisfaction at the sudden silence that descended over the room.

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LISA BARRY:

Joey tossed another box of snacks into the truck’s cab. Technically he didn’t need them, but he always felt better when he had a stack of things to eat.

The moon was high and the air was crisp. It was the perfect night for a run and Joey was especially excited because his new girlfriend was going on the run with his pack. A sort of meet and greet if you will.

It was his first time bringing a girl and he was curious as to how it would go. Being a rat shifter wasn’t always the best or the safest, but they were his family. If they didn’t like her, he’d do his best to get her out of there before they ate her.

He shuddered inside slightly. He had neglected that detail after inviting her to meet them. She was a dog shifter after all, she should be able to outrun them if need be. He hoped.

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JM PAQUETTE:

“If you would stop staring at the moon, we would have already unloaded all these boxes, man!” Joe snapped at his companion. Gary glared at him, and there was something feral in the look that made Joe uneasy. He was starting to realize how very little he knew his co-worker. “Look, if you didn’t want to come in and help me, you should’ve said so.” He shook his head, willing the feeling away as he picked up another box.

“Yeah right,” Gary muttered, leaning down to grab a box, hefting the weight easily in a way that made Joe jealous. Gary didn’t look big enough to be so strong. Joe wondered if he’d be stronger if he stopped indulging in so many snacks. “And tell the boss’s son no? Am I nuts?”

“I’m not just the boss’s son,” Joe argued. “Tonight, I’m just a co-worker who needed help because Tommy got sick.”

“Sick,” Gary repeated. “More like hungover.” He walked the box into the new house, bounding up the ancient porch steps with way more grace than should be possible. “Besides,” he said, dropping the box in the entryway and moving aside to let Joe set his down on top of it, “this is weird. Who insists we move their stuff only at night anyway?”

“Vampires,” Joe joked, and Gary stiffened, eyes widening and nostrils flaring for a second before his face resumed its normal disinterested look. Gary glanced around the room, seeming to scan the boxes more carefully.

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BRANDON SCOTT:

The Moon Surprise

They found boxes on the moon. After months of testing, and observation and just hundreds of thousands of dollars and man-hours, they discovered what was there.

And the world was in outcry, fear, and above all: curiosity. The implications of these boxes were something to be pondered about in stuffy rooms and with scientists of all fields.

Where they aliens? Had that been what had placed these strange, seemingly plastic containers?

In certain circles, these boxes almost took on a religious connotation. Taken as a sign and an omen and a gift from up above.

Of course, they sent up astronauts. Of course they did. Funding happened in very little time and those brave men and women trained for such flights went up, on the backs of humanities achievements and indomitable will.

It was a momentous day, millions tuned in to the broadcast. It was the original moon landings but in the digital age and with the attention of conspiracy theorists and enthusiasts alike.

The three men and one woman that would go down in the history books approached the boxes and opened them with the reverence that clearly the boxes deserved.

And found that it contained Hairy Ape Snacks, the center of the greatest marketing stunt of all time.

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JACKLYNE BARD:

The moon was almost non-existent. Britta stared out the window at the lunar eclipse, something supernatural should be happening to somebody right now but all she was doing was sitting at home eating snacks. She felt stupid, like something should be happening to her right now. She looked around her dumpy new apartment, still filled with boxes. She felt a twinge in her gut and got excited for a moment, but it soon passed and she realized it was just her stomach gurgling. Damn potato chips. They weren’t very good for werewolves anyways.

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Are You Actually Going To Write A Book?

Ink Slinger, Brandon Scott is an unstoppable writer with more written novels tucked in his closet than most people can even dream about producing.

He wrote a book on getting books written. And it’s great.

Want to learn some secrets?

Check out Brandon’s book. You’ll be glad you did. 🙂

Get your copy HERE!

Have you been meaning to write a book all your life?

Do you have a story in your head that won’t go away?

Well, isn’t it about time you did something about that?

Written by professional writer, blogger, and television critic Brandon Scott, this book will not only teach you how to write a book but also what it really takes to be a writer.

Presented with short, actionable instructions and easy-to-read references, it’ll take you through the steps to not only write one book but to always be able to write a book. 

It may not be your fault that you’ve still not completed your book.

There’s simply a mindset, a routine, and learnable skills you’ve been missing.  

So, let’s change all that.

Let’s make you an author.

Get this book now.

Featured Author: Nicole DragonBeck

Ink Slinger, Nicole DragonBeck has been writing, we think, probably since the womb.

She weaves words together that make you smile, that make you gasp and make you turn page after page until the sun starts to rise.

The words are gold.

Check out the first in her epic fantasy series. You’ll be glad you did. 🙂

Get your copy HERE!

Would you die for a world you barely knew?

In Demona, magyc is fading, the Guardians are scorned and in hiding, and the Sorcerer gains more power as he comes closer to finding the last piece of the puzzle which will allow him to send all realms of the Path into darkness.

Ria seems to be an ordinary girl from a world without magyc, but some believe she is the one who will fulfill the Prophecy, and restore magyc. The only problem: if this is true, she will die.

Fate dictates her future, but it is her past that holds the key to the ultimate choice – a choice that will free her, or condemn her.

Cedar won’t be able to live with himself if her death is his doing, but isn’t one girl’s life a cheap price to pay for the life of his home?

Life, Death, magyc – everything hangs in the Balance. Whether they know it or not, everyone is counting on Ria. Will she choose to save them, or will she end up destroying them?

Fans of classic fantasy, The Hobbit, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Sword of Shannara, and Naomi Novik’s Uprooted will love this epic fantasy tale.

Buy First Magyc now to find out what happens when Ria takes destiny into her own hands.

~~~ About Nicole

Nicole was born in California one snowy summer long ago, the illegitimate offspring of an elf and a troll. At a young age her powers exploded and she was banished to the wilderness of South Africa because her spells kept going inexplicably awry. There she was raised by a tribe of pygmy Dragons and had tremendous adventures, including defeating a terrible Fire-Demon that had been tormenting a sect of Dwarf priests. In gratitude they taught her the arcane magic of writing and the rest is horribly misinterpreted history. She reads as much as she writes, is obsessed with dragons and Italians, enjoys cooking, listening to music and can often be heard fiddling on a keyboard or guitar. She currently lives in Clearwater, Florida, is a member of The Ink Slingers Guild and is working on several novels, all of which have at least one mention of a dragon. She lists friends, music and life among her greatest influences.

No Happy Ending by Featured Author: Erika Lance

At our meetings, we often do 5-minute exercises using 3-5 words to create a short-short story. Sometimes, those stories are continuous from exercise to exercise. Here’s one of those from Erika Lance!

• Graham cracker

•Bookmark       

• Limp

Clara was sitting on the large overstuffed chair in her grandfather’s library looking out at the thunderstorm raging outside. She heard a plop as the now limp graham cracker she had been dipping in her tea broke off and was now what her brother would call a “floater”.

She looked down again at the book she was reading. It had actually been a perfectly sunny day until about ten minutes ago when the hero in the book was thrust into a perilous storm. The moment it happened the lightning cracked right outside the window.

She looked down and decided to turn some pages to where there was an old tasseled bookmark. She flipped open to the page “The creature slithered between the shelves as a cold mist rose from the floor.” Looking at the words again she closed her eyes and sighed. The air around her began to cool and when she opened her eyes again there was a dark grey mist around her. “They didn’t mention the color of the mist in the book” she mumbled to herself just as she heard the sound of movement from the shelves behind her chair….

• Post-it             

• Sulphur           

• Stolen

After hearing the noise, she decided to flip further into the story, which at this point she was sure was amazing, but also might end up not being something she could walk away from. She smirked at her joke.

There was a post it that she flipped to the new page that started with “The breeze carried with it the smell of jasmine and he could hear the sound of a bubbling brook nearby” …. This is much better she thought. “Then he felt the stinging burning pain as the red-hot blade was laid against his skin again…”

“What in hell” she exclaimed. Looking around for something the book had yet to describe holding a red-hot blade. She did not see or hear anyone, so she flipped again to the end of the book. She was hoping to find the happy ending but there were pages torn out.  She looked to the last line on the remaining

“The creature held the fate of the hero in his palm that he had stolen….” She sighed and looked up to see a demonic figure standing in front of her smelling of sulfur.

“Looking for these?’ he said holding up pages.

Unexpected – an ISG Writing Exercise

These three words were chosen:

• Post-it
• Sulphur
• Stolen

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!

FEATURED AUTHOR

LISA BARRY:

The smell of Sulphur wrinkled Allie’s nose against her will. She was doing her best to be at ease in this hellish place. All for a modelling shoot that would rocket her career to the next level.

“Relax, honey,” the photography said as she turned her head away from the water emitting the noxious spell.

“I’m sorry this smell has stolen some of my ability to think.”

”You’re from the corporate world, right?”

“Yes,” she answered lightly as she posed, her barely-there bikini fitting in all the right places.

“Imagine your sniffing a new post it. You corporate types like that right?”

“Some do but there’s a reason I’m working with you instead,” she smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. The photographer clicked again. Step back few feet and that will be the last of it,” he said.

So she did. The cliff drop was unexpected and sudden. The photographer looked over the edge and watched Allie fall, listening to her screech the whole way down.

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ANNE CARGILE:

Paige looked at the pile of Sulphur and then she looked at Len. “Are you sure about this,” she asked, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice as she held her hand to her face at the smell in the warehouse.

Len shrugged in a rather irritating manner she thought.  He obviously wasn’t taking this as seriously as he ought to be.  “Yeah, I wrote it down. See?” He handed her a post-it note with some illegible scribbling on it.

“The magician wanted us to get him Sulphur, you’re sure,” she asked again.

“Yeah, I told you. He said Len, my boy, you’re the only one I know who can do the job.  Go and get me some Sulphur for the spell and I’ll pay you good.”

Paige’s skepticism was not laid to rest by her friends’ story.  She looked at the pile of stolen rocks and shook her head. “So, now what?”

“Now we got to take it to him.  That’s why I called you. I need your truck.”

“Len, I own a smart car, not a truck. I haven’t owned a truck in over ten years. And all of that – she waved at the rather large pile of smelly rocks, “isn’t going to fit in my car.”

Len scrunched up his face. “Oh,” he said.

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NICOLE DRAGONBECK:

The tapping intensified.  Peter held up his cane as if he meant to attach someone, his eyes narrowed intently. “What is going on?” Hildy demanded. “They’re here!” Peter snapped. “Grab something to defend yourself girl, unless you want to die!” Hildy had no particular desire to die, but there wasn’t anything particularly dangerous or threatening that she could use as a weapon. “Wait wait wait!” Peter’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Sulfur! Get the sulfur!” Hildy looked around, but she had no idea what sulfur looked like. “There there, on the shelf!” She dashed to the shelf, and saw that in place of the mistreated books, little vials of colored powder were now lined up in rows. Post-it notes with weird symbols were behind each, but none of them said “sulfur”. “Which one?” she asked. “The yellow one!” Peter yelled. “Damn it, girl, we don’t have all day!” Hildy realized he had forgotten her name, but the urgency in his voice banished the sadness. She pulled the jar with the yellow powder and put it in his eagerly outstretched hand. The liverspots were new, as was the faint tremble when he pulled out the stopper. The room filled with a pungent smell, and the tapping at the window stopped at once. A grin of pure glee spread over Peter’s face, then the window exploded inward in a shower of glass shards, ripping the curtain off the wall. The sunlight was blocked by a monstrous shape, claws digging into the frame. Hildy mouth dropped open, her scream frozen in her throat. Peter threw the yellow powder in the air, thrust his cane after it and muttered something. Lightning sparked and then dispersed in a giant crash. The darkness in the window was obliterated, and an eerie silence enveloped the apartment. “What was that, and why is it here?” Hildy whispered, her eyes wide. “They came for what was stolen,” Peter said quietly, and then sank down onto the sofa.

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ERIKA LANCE:

After hearing the noise, she decided to flip further into the story, which at this point she was sure was amazing, but also might end up not being something she could walk away from. She smirked at her joke.

There was a post it that she flipped to the new page that started with “The breeze carried with it the smell of jasmine and he could hear the sound of a bubbling brook nearby” …. This is much better she thought. “Then he felt the stinging burning pain as the red-hot blade was laid against his skin again…”

“What in hell” she exclaimed. Looking around for something the book had yet to describe holding a red-hot blade. She did not see or hear anyone, so she flipped again to the end of the book. She was hoping to find the happy ending but there were pages torn out.  She looked to the last line on the remaining

“The creature held the fate of the hero in his palm that he had stolen….” She sighed and looked up to see a demonic figure standing in front of her smelling of sulfur “Looking for these?’ he said holding up pages.

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JM PAQUETTE:

I took a sip of my tea, the liquid tasty and satisfying, but there was a moment where I wondered if it would be better if I had chosen the crackers and had the best food in the world. Then again, considering the loopholes I had discovered, it probably wouldn’t apply to drinks anyway–just food. And then I’d have great food and disappointing-in-comparison drinks.

No, I had made the right choice with the book mark.

I stared at the book on the table before me, the slight smell of sulphur wafting from the pages. I wondered where it had been stored to smell like this. I didn’t think the Pearl poet would have been making deals with demons, but I could never be sure. I frowned before touching it. I was fairly sure that the Lost Tales of the Pearl poet hadn’t been hidden away in some museum archive, but I did not want a repeat of the last fiasco when I’d been happily reading the First Shakespeare Folio to be interrupted by a news story about a theft at the British Museum. Luckily, no one thought to search the house of a simple barista in Chicago for the stolen manuscript, but if they had, I didn’t know how I would explain how the book got here.

I looked at the post-it note stuck the wall above the table, reached out, and put a check mark next to the Pearl poet. Eventually, I’d work my way through all of the pre-Christian Dark Ages and move on to the Middle Ages.

All that French, though, I thought. Good thing the bookmark lets me understand the book, no matter the language it was written in. I was having fun with the Old English names in Pearl, no doubt butchering the pronunciation enough to make Tolkien roll over in his grave. One of these names would conjure a demon if I wasn’t careful.

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JACKLYNE BARD:

Sulphur. She smelled sulphur, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. He was back, and had come for the thing she had stolen. Luckily she did not have it here.  She smiled slightly in that comfort. He would never find the location. She had written iit on a post-it note and placed it haphazardly in with all of her other ones. She would never reveal its location, even if he killed her. But she had a plan, grabbing her purse and the piles of sticky notes, she bolted out the door. He was right behind her, she could hear the scuffling of footsteps at her back, she dodged left and sprinted down the hall. “Lyza! Come back here!” He screamed in terror, her blood ran cold and she stopped. There was a high pitched laugh that made her sick to her stomach.

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They’ve Come Back by Featured Author: Nicole DragonBeck

At our meetings, we often do 5-minute exercises using 3-5 words to create a short-short story. Sometimes, those stories are continuous from exercise to exercise. Here’s one of those from Nicole DragonBeck!

• Graham cracker

•Bookmark       

• Limp

Hildy walked into the room, and surveyed the mess. Graham cracker crumbs littered the table, next to a glass of milk with one sip left. The pillows were thrown willy-nilly over the floor, and the rug had been pushed into a heap in the corner. All the books had been pulled off the shelf and stacked in random places. Some of the ribbon bookmarks had been pulled out and pinned to the wall like prizes or party decorations. The curtains were closed, and a smattering of burning candles gave a dim light.

“Peter?” Hildy called out.

“I’m right here,” a gruff voice snapped at her, and her heart rammed into her throat.

“Peter, what’s happened?” she asked. “Why does your place look like…” she waved her hand inarticulacy around.

“What?” Peter said, and blinked.

“Let me open the window, get some light and fresh air-”

“No!” Peter barked. “You’ll let them in.” 

“Let who in?” Hildy wondered, watching the old man limp around the piles of books, leaning on the worn cane he never let out of his hand.

“They’ve come back, and this time, they’ve brought friends.”

Hildy frowned. “Are you having nightmares again?”

Peter stopped beside the couch, wheezing. He looked like he was a hundred years old, but Hildy knew that he was only a dozen years older than she was. A tapping at the window drew both their eyes.

“They’re here,” Peter whispered.

• Post-it             

• Sulphur           

• Stolen

The tapping intensified.  Peter held up his cane as if he meant to attach someone, his eyes narrowed intently.

“What is going on?” Hildy demanded.

“They’re here!” Peter snapped. “Grab something to defend yourself girl, unless you want to die!”

Hildy had no particular desire to die, but there wasn’t anything particularly dangerous or threatening that she could use as a weapon.

“Wait wait wait!” Peter’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Sulfur! Get the sulfur!”

Hildy looked around, but she had no idea what sulfur looked like. “There there, on the shelf!” She dashed to the shelf, and saw that in place of the mistreated books, little vials of colored powder were now lined up in rows. Post-it notes with weird symbols were behind each, but none of them said “sulfur”.

“Which one?” she asked.

“The yellow one!” Peter yelled. “Damn it, girl, we don’t have all day!”

Hildy realized he had forgotten her name, but the urgency in his voice banished the sadness. She pulled the jar with the yellow powder and put it in his eagerly outstretched hand. The liverspots were new, as was the faint tremble when he pulled out the stopper. The room filled with a pungent smell, and the tapping at the window stopped at once. A grin of pure glee spread over Peter’s face, then the window exploded inward in a shower of glass shards, ripping the curtain off the wall. The sunlight was blocked by a monstrous shape, claws digging into the frame.

Hildy mouth dropped open, her scream frozen in her throat. Peter threw the yellow powder in the air, thrust his cane after it and muttered something. Lightning sparked and then dispersed in a giant crash. The darkness in the window was obliterated, and an eerie silence enveloped the apartment.

“What was that, and why is it here?” Hildy whispered, her eyes wide.

“They came for what was stolen,” Peter said quietly, and then sank down onto the sofa.

The Creature Slithered – an ISG Writing Exercise

On DATE, these three words were chosen:

• Graham-Cracker

• Limp

• Bookmark

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!

FEATURED AUTHOR

ERIKA LANCE:

Clara was sitting on the large overstuffed chair in her grandfather’s library looking out at the thunderstorm raging outside. She heard a plop as the now limp graham cracker she had been dipping in her tea broke off and was now what her brother would call a “floater”.

She looked down again at the book she was reading. It had actually been a perfectly sunny day until about ten minutes ago when the hero in the book was thrust into a perilous storm. The moment it happened the lightning cracked right outside the window.

She looked down and decided to turn some pages to where there was an old tasseled bookmark. She flipped open to the page “The creature slithered between the shelves as a cold mist rose from the floor.” Looking at the words again she closed her eyes and sighed. The air around her began to cool and when she opened her eyes again there was a dark grey mist around her. “They didn’t mention the color of the mist in the book” she mumbled to herself just as she heard the sound of movement from the shelves behind her chair….

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LISA BARRY:

Ryan stepped gingerly around the graham crackers crushed and spread across the floor. His limp from the fight earlier in the day did not help the fact that he was trying to avoid making any noise as he made his way to his room through the kitchen. He stepped around a particularly large pile of crackers when his knee failed.

Hitting the tile, the cracker crunched, and he froze, partially from the pain and partially to strain his ears for any evidence that he had been heard. White noise was all he could make out so he stood on wobbly legs and continued.

A soft chuckle came from behind. Ryan stopped and turned around. Lorna stood with a thick volume in hand, a bookmark on a string dangled from her fingers.

“The faeries aren’t back yet but they’re coming. Better hurry.” She encouraged though the smile on her face said differently.

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ANNE CARGILE:

Kimberly tucked the bookmark into the magazine and sighed mournfully. Stretching out on her chaise she pet her cat as she daydreamed of the royal prince. The magazine had an exclusive set of pictures of him on his yacht and he was just dreamy she thought, with that black hair and dark eyes. Hercules, her cat, didn’t bother twitching an ear as she pet him, one paw hung limply over the side of the couch.

“What do you think Herc? Would I have a chance with the prince if he saw me?”

Herc just yawned. She grabbed another graham cracker. The cat lifted his head and looked at her.

“You won’t catch anyone if you keep eating like that,” he said snarkily.

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NICOLE DRAGONBECK:

Hildy walked into the room and surveyed the mess. Graham cracker crumbs littered the table, next to a glass of milk with one sip left. The pillows were thrown willy-nilly over the floor, and the rug had been pushed into a heap in the corner. All the books had been pulled off the shelf and stacked in random places. Some of the ribbon bookmarks had been pulled out and pinned to the wall like prizes or party decorations. The curtains were closed, and a smattering of burning candles gave a dim light.

“Peter?” Hildy called out.

“I’m right here,” a gruff voice snapped at her, and her heart rammed into her throat.

“Peter, what’s happened?” she asked.

“Why does your place look like…” she waved her hand inarticulacy around.

“What?” Peter said, and blinked.

“Let me open the window, get some light and fresh air-“

“No!” Peter barked.

“You’ll let them in.” 

“Let who in?” Hildy wondered, watching the old man limp around the piles of books, leaning on the worn cane he never let out of his hand.

“They’ve come back, and this time, they’ve brought friends.”

Hildy frowned. “Are you having nightmares again?”

Peter stopped beside the couch, wheezing. He looked like he was a hundred years old, but Hildy knew that he was only a dozen years older than she was. A tapping at the window drew both their eyes. “They’re here,” Peter whispered.

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JM PAQUETTE:

            I looked down at my hands, then back up at the djinni. “Are you sure?” I asked it. 

The creature nodded sagely, gesturing to my hands, “You must choose your reward for freeing me,” it repeated. 

            “What about my three wishes?” I asked. 

            “Wishes?” it repeated, clearly confused. 

            “Yeah,” I pointed at the newly shined lamp sitting on the counter in front of me. “That’s the deal with a djinni. I  rub the lamp; I get the wishes. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with either of these.”
            I looked down at my hands: my right held what appeared to be an ancient bookmark, the material glorious against my skin, and lovely with scrollwork, but still just a scrap of fabric. 

My left land held a stack of three perfectly shaped graham crackers, the bottom now feeling a bit limp as it absorbed the sweat from my palm.

            “I offer you wondrous treasures,” the djinni explained. “So great that you cannot have both. You must decide which you will have.”

            “Crackers and a place to mark my page?” I asked. “I don’t know what kind of world you’re from, but I can get crackers from my cabinet right now, three different varieties, and I have bookmarks stashed in every book I own.”

            “They are not merely food and markers,” it snapped, looking annoyed. “Clearly, the old tales have faded during my time away.” A ghostly hand gestured to the bookmark. “That marks the page of any book you wish to read in the world.”

            “Like any book?”

            The djinni nodded. “Is there a book in the world or the history of the world you’d like to read? Think of it, and that so-called scrap of material will bring it to you for as long as you wish.” I held it more carefully in my hand after that. 

            “And these?” I looked at the crackers. 

            “The finest food to be found in the world,” the djinni declared. “Think of it, and it shall be yours.”

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JACKLYNE BARD:

The faerie limped across the library floor, she was upset over slipping on a bookmark and hobbled to her desk to fetch a graham cracker. Nothing like comfort food to help ease the pain of wounded pride and a broken foot. She hated those dirty humans, always leaving stuff about for her to pick up or trip on. One day she would get her revenge on all of them, but today was not that day, unfortunately. She sniffled as a tear ran down her cheek. They were always so mean, why did life have to be so hard? She wished for the days when fairies wandered the forests and were not holed up in some stupid library or book store. That was also her dream, after the demise of all humans, the faerie kind would be free to roam as they wished. 

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