So you think you’re a writer? You wanna show your stuff?
Well, here’s your chance!
Create a nanofiction story - each story must contain the following four elements: 1.) a setting, 2.) one or more characters, 3.) conflict, and 4.) resolution. Plus of course, the whole thing can only be 55 words long, not counting the title, which must be no more than 7 words long. (There are also some technical details about what really constitutes a word, but I won’t bore you with those here.)
You can see some hilarious examples here (and where I pirated the stipulations as well):
“Bastard. ‘For sale: baby shoes, never worn.’ That’s it. That’s your story. Yes, very clever, Mr. Hemingway. Says it all, don’t it? But I spend a week and… nothing! NOOTTHHIINNGG!!”
crack
“What’s that, Gwen?”
“’ closin’ the window. Neighbour’s off again ‘bout how he’s got nothin’ to say, no passion… goes on for hours… More coffee?”
:s sorry. told ya I can’t write. 'twas honest. Points for trying?
Anderson was the best farmer in all of Sheffield. He was reputed throughout the countryside for his midwifery skills in helping cows give birth. One day, in the middle of a typical delivery, he reached too far and found himself sucked into his Guernsey. He was surprised to find an alternative universe lurking inside her.
*By the way, I finished typing this story without any editing or word counting and wound up with exactly 56 words. I split a sentence to make it a perfect 55.
To borrow that famous first question from E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web…
Title: Wilbur Was Not the Only Runt
“Where’s Papa going with that ax?” asked Fern innocently. Her mother was washing dishes but suddenly froze with the question.
“What do you mean, Fern?” Her mother never turned from the sink of hot suds, but knew exactly what she meant.
Suddenly there was a boy screaming frantically upstairs.
Fern was now an only child.
“Not tonight, I have a headache,” she said, after briefly massaging the throbbing tumescence. She flipped on the bedroom light, only to gape in wonder: all this time she had merely been diddling with a strap-on! “Aw, what the hell,” she said, turning the light back off and returning to her position in the kayak.
The train stops. An elderly woman elbows her to the front, waiting to push onto the train. The doors open. Standing in the center of the doorway is a foreigner. Their eyes lock together. He blocks her attempts to push onto the train before he disembarks. The doors close. Both cultures miss their connection.
[quote=“R. Daneel Olivaw”]You Don’t Understand TRA Culture
The train stops. An elderly woman elbows her to the front, waiting to push onto the train. The doors open. Standing in the center of the doorway is a foreigner. Their eyes lock together. He blocks her attempts to push onto the train before he disembarks. The doors close. Both cultures miss their connection.[/quote]
You are the master of nanofiction! Not only following the strict structure, but also used a very fine double-entendre. You earn bonus points for the wordplay. Bravo, my good man. :bravo:
Falling in Love
“Please don’t go this way!” he shouted over the pouring rain as he raced down the sidewalk. Alas, he slipped and fell. She paused, shocked, feeling regret for a love gone bad, and watched him in silence. When he got up, sobbing, she decided to listen to him after all…
Henry would have taught English in Taiwan forever, but in one fell swoop the Foreign Affairs Police led by the eminent Officer Zhou extracted Henry from Americanize Buxiban. Even more surprisingly, the search found 63.5 grams of black tar heroin on his person. “They planted it,” he growled to the judge but was deported nonetheless.
The sun peered suspiciously over the horizon, and upon seeing me waiting there, hastily ducked back down.
“Chickenshit!” I called out, laughing.
At the sound of my voice, the stars retreated. Even the absolute black that remained cowered in my presence.
“Young lady,” my mother yelled angrily, “Are you intimidating the heavens again?”
“Whatever, look, it isn’t that complicated. Snow falls from the sky, lays there for awhile, maybe gets walked on, or made into a perfect snow ball, or not, either way it just melts again and before you know there’s a goddam flower or something.”
The sun peered suspiciously over the horizon, and upon seeing me waiting there, hastily ducked back down.
“Chickenshit!” I called out, laughing.
At the sound of my voice, the stars retreated. Even the absolute black that remained cowered in my presence.
“Young lady,” my mother yelled angrily, “Are you intimidating the heavens again?”[/quote]
ImaniOU remembers…
She wakes up, spare burnt Lost season 3 CD’s by her bedside. She remembers the eager recipient, and the business card he gave her. She dresses, red-faced at the prospect of standing him up yet again, the memory of writing “yes, I’ll be at the mod lunch” fresh on her mind. She mails finally. Received?
He thought about it all afternoon. Something new, something brilliant, something out of this world. He cleared his mind. Nothing. So he filled his mind. Still nothing. Why wouldn’t the words come? He sat down, hoping it would just appear. But this was all he managed.
Ding dong. The bell of 7-Eleven rings out her departure. The bag of popcorn sizzles. She pushes the button for the 12th floor and the antiquated machine laboriously makes its way against gravity. She goes in and stretches out on the sofa for another 43 minutes spent watching her favorite castaways.
Lost Promises
“I swear I’ll have your videos for you. When will you be back in Taipei?”
“Ha”, he scoffs.
“Dude, I won’t forget. I’m even writing it on my forehead with permanent marker so every strange look I get will remind me of my duty.”
“Really?”
“Not really, but I won’t forget, I swear.”
I saw the sun rising, nudged lovingly by the reclining moon. It ascended slowly, until the now irritated and impatient moon stole the covers, kicking its lazy ass out of bed. The sun growled, raising one golden finger at the moon before sighing and pulling itself the rest of the way into the pale sky.
My nanofiction adaptation of a famous piece of Internet literature (OK, it’s a few words too long, but still).
[quote]John Stalvern waited. There were demons in the base.
The radio crackered. “You must fight the demons!”
“HE GOING TO KILL US” said the demons
“I will shoot at him” said the cyberdemon
But then the ceiling fell and they were trapped.
“No! I must kill the demons” he shouted
The radio said “No, John. You are the demons”
And then John was a zombie.[/quote]