Inaugural Flash Fiction Challenge

[kailhofer]

Rob, I hope this is ok with you. It sounded like it would be in the contest details thread, but perhaps you had something else in mind or waiting longer before doing it.

If not… well, delete this thread. I'll understand. If any individual part of this concept is unacceptable, we'll change it. If it's too hard we can scale back next time.


All right, Lee. A long time ago, you nominated me as the inaugural challenger, so here goes. Rather than debate it further, I say we all just try one, although I'll probably explain more in this post than any future challenge would need to, if it's done again.

Ground Rules: This Flash Fiction Challenge is open for 2 weeks. Stories should be pasted into messages in this thread. After that time, as Challenger, I will post a poll message with each title and author of the story, unless there are too many entries to fit in an individual poll (in which case we'll play it by ear). Users can then vote on their favorite. Polls will be open for 1 week, after which a winner would be announced. The winning entry may or not wind up in the 'zine. That's up to people higher up than me.

As Challenger, I will post an example story that I wrote with the same criteria. I think this story should not be eligible to win, but is instead meant to show what I had in mind or what is possible.



FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE:

I challenge all writers out there to test their metal and hone their skills. In 1000 words or less, create an expression of love between 2 speculative fiction characters. 'PG13' or lightly 'R' content, please. Use a snowstorm, a golden Buddha idol, & a metronome in the story.

By 'Speculative Fiction' I mean science fiction, fantasy, horror fiction, supernatural fiction, alternate history, cyberpunk, or magic realism. That shouldn't be too restrictive. Said expression of love could be between 2 lovers, a boy and his dog, an alien and a living wrist watch… anything, so long as these are speculative fiction characters. For example, a plain, regular boy and a normal dog are would not be ok, unless they happen to live in a SF setting, or the dog is really an ultra-intelligent alien, and the boy is his pet--you get the idea.

Yes, I will count the words. Any count deemed as excessively over the limit wouldn't go in the poll to get voted on.

DEADLINE: Stories should be in by 11 p.m. central standard time, May 21, 2007. Voting would then be until the same time on the 28th.

Give it a try. I'm betting you'll find that it is a lot more fun than you thought. If you don't have time to write a story in the next two weeks, that's fine. You can always try a later challenge.


Nate

Question for Rob: Is it possible to lock a thread after 2 weeks so people can't post more messages, but still be read? That would give time to read the stories and vote. I was trying to keep the challenge below 1000 words and limiting it to only 2 weeks so it wouldn't potentially take away from people reading the issue or commenting on stories.

[kailhofer]

EXAMPLE STORY
995 words

[center]Faith & Love

By:
N.J. Kailhofer[/center]


Faith leaned her blonde head on Jimmy's shoulder and pulled her legs up on the wide seat of the pickup. "Tell me you love me, baby."

The wipers swept aside the thick snow on the windshield, marking the moments they spent in this storm like some relentless metronome. "You know I do."

She snuggled against his chest. "Do you remember the first time?"

His hands were tight on the wheel. "Honey, this is harder than it looks. It's really coming down."

"My big, tough man can handle anything." She smiled and put her hand on his knee before sliding it up the inside of his thigh. "Don't you remember anything about that night?"

#

Jimmy's eyes would not open at first. Something pushed against his face, and his head ached. Every breath was agony, an intense stab of pain. Forcing himself up, he saw the blurry steering wheel. Sunlight splayed in at him from the windows and he could hardly bear to look out. The hood of his blue pickup wrenched upwards into a pine tree. Snow was up to his window.

On the floor of the cab, Faith lay on her back, one arm over her head and the other across her chest, as if resting. Both her legs bent awkwardly to the side. Her lifeless eyes stared up at him.



"No!" He scrambled to her, pulling her up against his chest. Cradling her head in his hands, he brushed the hair from her eyes. Tears blurred his vision and sobs wracked his frame.

#

He laid her across the seat as if she was asleep and forced her door open.

The snow on her side was knee high. Looking around, he found they were at the bottom of a steep ravine, wedged into a stand of trees. The front of the truck was smashed, and would never run. The ice-coated walls of the ravine were steep, and extended up a hundred yards. He doubted anyone could see them from the roadway, and he knew he was not much of a climber.

He shivered. His lightweight jacket was fine for the city, but the cold stabbed at every part of him, especially his bare hands, and before long he had to climb back into the cab to try to get warm. He shook as he sat next to her until finally exhaustion forced his eyes closed.

#

A hand touched his. "Still with me, baby?"

Faith sat next to him, leaned against his chest. Dried blood was caked to her temple, matting her hair to the side of her face. Her eyes were dark and tired, but full of joy.

He kissed her. "I thought you were gone."

"I'd never leave you." She hugged him. "You were out for three days. How do you feel?"

"Better. Not so cold, anyhow. How about you?"

"Starving. Those weird, raw appetizers at the party were almost five days ago."

They had no food--it was just going to be an evening out with friends in the mountains when the storm hit. Both her legs were broken, and walking was out of the question. She said she ate some snow that she could reach from the window, but that was it.

Outside, he spied a hare nibbling grass that stuck up from a snow bank, a hundred yards away.

"Do you think you can catch that?" she asked.

He dug as best he could under the seat. There was not much there, besides an old pair of boots with broken shoelaces and a tire iron. Outside, there were broken branches from their crash, so he opened the door as quietly as he could. He tied the iron to a branch with the laces, and made a spear.

The speed and silence with which he moved through the woods surprised Jimmy. He had never been much of a hunter, but somehow he knew to circle behind the rabbit. The stillness of the woods pounded in his ears until when the hare stepped forward, he swore he could hear it. Closing in, he imagined he heard the beating of its heart, the in and out of tiny breaths.

The snow turned crimson as it died.

#

Faith's hands were shaking as he handed it in.

"I've got to find a way to cook it," he said. "No matches. No lighter."

She could not wait, and he had to look away. "Jesus, honey."

"Jimmy, you have to eat something," she said. "You need to keep your strength up. I won't make it without you."

It turned his stomach, but he knew she was right. The window scraper from the glove box had a thin brass blade along the front, and he pulled it out of the plastic with his teeth. Using it as a knife, he cut some.

The salty flavor trickling down the back of his throat was unlike anything he imagined. Swallowing it, he felt himself coming alive… like maybe they could make it after all.

#

"That's what I remember," Jimmy said. "The taste of that blood and the hope it gave me."

He turned the wheel, moving the fan belt he used to connect the steering column to the wipers. The blades swung to match his turn, and then back again as he reversed it. The sweeping of the snow from the windshield made the storm look just like it had, ten years ago that night, when he stopped being dead, too.

"I still love you, honey. You're such a good provider." She rubbed his tummy like he was a golden Buddha doll before looking down at the leg braces he made for her. "Every kill makes me better, but will I ever heal enough that we can climb out of this canyon and go home?"

Outside, the howling snow swallowed the rusty fender of the pickup, but it didn't matter. He had Faith, and love.

"We are home."



The End

[kailhofer]

I have no intention of critiquing any story entered into the challenge, even yours.

The whole concept of the challenge is to have fun, stretch our abilities, learn techniques, and get people's creative juices flowing.

Nate

[Robert_Moriyama]

And here's my shot at it. Took about an hour, not counting the time spent thinking about the required elements last night.

The Guardian (783 words)

The Guardian was tired, bone-tired, claw-tired, fur-and-fang-tired. Outside the cave, the first storm of winter raked the mountainside with pellets (too solid to be called flakes) of snow that could blind a man or bruise and even puncture his flesh.

Of course, the Guardian was not a man. His leathery hide and fur would allow him to walk, not in comfort, but without suffering harm, through the worst that the mountain winter might bring.

But his nature could not protect him from the loneliness of his vigil. Ten years he had spent guarding the small, golden statue of the Buddha, ever since it had been delivered into his hands by monks bearing a letter from the Dalai Lama himself. Ten years, with no one to talk to except the ever-smiling Buddha, no voice to hear except the keening of the wind...

"Choden!"

The Guardian shook his great, shaggy head. For a moment, I thought I heard a voice -- a real voice, not just words in the wind, he thought. Perhaps after ten years, madness has come at last. Well, at least it should be entertaining --

"Choden! Are you there? Foolish woman, of course he is there --"

The dim light filtering into the cave through the swirling snow suddenly vanished, then reappeared around something large, something rounded ...

Now I am seeing things as well as hearing them, the Guardian thought. Perhaps if I meditate, I can send these apparitions back into the Void. He closed his eyes and intoned "Ommmmmmmmmmm..." in a voice that made the granite of the cave vibrate in sympathy.

"Choden, open your eyes. It is I, Khandro. I have come for you."

The Guardian closed his eyes even more tightly. He reached into a niche in the cave wall, found the metronome given to him by another lama, many years ago, and freed its pendulum. The slow, regular tock...tock...tock... had always helped him to meditate before. It was rhythm without meaning or purpose, without expectations or desire.

"Ommmmmmmmmmm--"

The metronome stopped. The Guardian opened his eyes, startled -- apparently the sound of the metronome did produce expectation of a sort, the expectation of the next tock, and the failure of that sound to occur was disturbing.

"Choden, your time as Guardian has ended. Another has been chosen to take your place."

The Guardian grunted, pawed at his eyes, and stared. "It is you, Khandro. I thought I was to remain here, to protect this image of the Buddha, for as long as I lived. What has changed?"

Khandro, a female considered quite lovely among The People of the Mountain, smiled. The dim light glinted softly from her lower fangs and filtered through her fine, silky fur as if through wispy clouds on a sunlit day. "There is a new Dalai Lama. He has decreed that this duty should be shared among the People."

"Ah," said the Guardian. "But surely you are not --"

Khandro laughed. "Chosen? No, no, at least not this time."

Choden, he thought, I have a name again, not just a title. "Then why are you here? The journey from our sanctuary is long and hard even in good weather. Surely the new Guardian could have brought me the news when he came to begin his vigil."

"He will not come until Spring," Khandro said, her eyes studying a pebble on the cave floor.

"Then why --"

Khandro slithered across the few meters of icy rock that separated them and buried her face in the fur covering Choden's neck. For a moment, Choden recoiled, wondering if she intended to tear out his throat, but then he realized that, although her fangs were working their way through the fur to his flesh, they were not biting so much as -- nibbling.

"Oh," he said. Then "Oh..."

He wrapped his arms around Khandro's warm, lithe body -- the first really warm thing he had touched in a decade -- and lowered his head to inhale the scent of her soft, rich coat.

"I never knew that you had such feelings for me," he said, as parts of him that had lain dormant for years awoke.

Khandro snickered, her body shaking in his arms. "I always knew that the Dalai Lama didn't choose you for your intelligence!"

He frowned, wondering whether he should try to come up with a clever answer. But somehow, clever words didn't seem very important (and she was right -- intelligence wasn't his strongest point).

After a few moments, he reached out and gently grasped the statue of the Buddha that he had protected for so many years, and turned it to face the back of the cave.

The End

[doc]

Question for Rob: Is it possible to lock a thread after 2 weeks so people can't post more messages, but still be read? That would give time to read the stories and vote. I was trying to keep the challenge below 1000 words and limiting it to only 2 weeks so it wouldn't potentially take away from people reading the issue or commenting on stories.

Yes, I can lock threads as the moderator. We'll coordinate on the time to do so.

Agreed that this is a writing exercise. The important thing is to work out the brain muscles, not to write immortal prose. Should be fun, I'll have to drop in an entry myself.

[Robert_Moriyama]

Gareth, you left out the gold Buddha and the metronome!

Here's my story:

HIGH POINT
By Gareth L Powell


They decided to spend the night in the weather station at the top of Mount Banshee, overlooking the Longreach Glacier. It was late in the season and strong winds battered the summit.

Van, stumbling around with a torch, eventually located the station's generator and switched on the light and heat, allowing them to shrug off their thick parkas. Laura, her cheeks pink and hair mussed, stood close to one of the air vents, enjoying the warmth.

'What do we have left to eat?' she said.

Van rooted through the hamper they'd brought, finding a wedge of brie, a couple of bread rolls, and a tub of olives. Spreading a blanket on the control room floor, he shared the food onto plastic plates. And then he went and found a couple of tin mugs in the station's galley, so they could share the bottle of wine Laura carried in her knapsack.

They had a glass each, and huddled together on the blanket as they ate. Outside, the wind battered the shutters.

'We should've brought something warmer to eat,' Van said, cutting a slice of cheese. Laura smiled, leaning back. She rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder, swirling the wine in her mug so the ripples caught the dim light from the control room monitors.

The radio played music from Earth, scratchy with pops and hisses. He put his arm around her, and she kissed him, then buried her face in the flame-proof fabric of his chest.

'I'm pregnant,' she said.

[Robert_Moriyama]

... and I didn't find a metronome (even as a simile or metaphor) in Tao's entry either. Goldurnit, am I the only one who takes Nate's list of Required Elements as inclusive (all elements should be present)?

Mr. Kailhofer, a ruling please: was it your intention that every story include all three items / elements?

And a second question: are challenge-takers permitted to modify their postings up until the deadline?

Robert "Okay, so the metronome in a Himalayan Yeti cave was a stretch..." M.

[kailhofer]

... and I didn't find a metronome (even as a simile or metaphor) in Tao's entry either. Goldurnit, am I the only one who takes Nate's list of Required Elements as inclusive (all elements should be present)?

Mr. Kailhofer, a ruling please: was it your intention that every story include all three items / elements?

And a second question: are challenge-takers permitted to modify their postings up until the deadline?

Robert "Okay, so the metronome in a Himalayan Yeti cave was a stretch..." M.

Yes those words must be in there, or I won't put the story in the poll. Otherwise it is not fair to other writers who did meet the requirements.

Technically, your story could be a speculative fiction spelling bee where 2 contestants fall in love, and only mention the words, but they must be in there.

Sure, change them all you want until the deadline.

Nate

[Robert_Moriyama]

... and I didn't find a metronome (even as a simile or metaphor) in Tao's entry either. Goldurnit, am I the only one who takes Nate's list of Required Elements as inclusive (all elements should be present)?

Mr. Kailhofer, a ruling please: was it your intention that every story include all three items / elements?

And a second question: are challenge-takers permitted to modify their postings up until the deadline?

Robert "Okay, so the metronome in a Himalayan Yeti cave was a stretch..." M.

Yes those words must be in there, or I won't put the story in the poll. Otherwise it is not fair to other writers who did meet the requirements.

Technically, your story could be a speculative fiction spelling bee where 2 contestants fall in love, and only mention the words, but they must be in there.

Sure, change them all you want until the deadline.

Nate

So there, Gareth. Implied / Zen "There is no Buddha statue" Buddha statues don't count. I think Tao's three-layers deep electronic music metronome-equivalent deserves to be considered, but leaving the McGuffins completely offstage is going too far.

Let this be a warning to you, prospective challenge-takers. No ticky-tocky, no poll-y.

RM  ;)

[Robert_Moriyama]

I keep expecting Bob Moriyama, or some other smart-alek, to write one that uses the pun Metro-Gnome...
::)

Dan

But I strive for (relatively) original puns. Wasn't "Metrognome" already a story somewhere? (Or am I thinking of "A Gnome Named Gnorm"?)

:-?

Postscript: "The Metrognome" is a story by Alan Dean Foster, included in the collection "The Metrognome and other stories", published in 1990. Synopsis from the inner flap:

THE METROGNOME. Charlie Dimsdale was only a little man in the company that ran New York City's subways . . . until some odd little denizens of the city's subterranean tunnels showed him who was really in charge!

"A Gnome Named Gnorm" was a movie, directed by Stan Winston (of Terminator fame), released in 1990. Info from IMDB.com:

A Gnome Named Gnorm (1990)

Gnorm is just an average Gnome. But he wants to impress the lady Gnomes by doing something heroic. So he steals the Gnome's magic stones to expose them to sunlight to recharge them. When he gets to the surface, (Gnome's live deep underground) he witnesses a murder, and the killer ends up with his stones. Detective Casey, who was working a sting operation with the murdered man, (another detective) is blamed for botching the sting, and causing the death. Wanting to catch the killer to clear his name, he teams up with Gnorm, who he accidentally discovers. He is going to need Samantha's help, but she thinks he is a nut. You see, no one else knows about Gnorm. (Synopsis written by Brian W Martz)

[kailhofer]

The metro-gnome thing is cute. I probably would have said yes, but since somebody else already did it, no. No need for copyright infringements.

Tao, you need the word in there, just like I said about Gareth's. That's only fair.

Everybody's 'snowstorm' is already pretty weak, but since I'm letting that slide, I'm not budging on the Buddha or the metronome.

Nate

PS. Good catch on the 'mettle,' BTW, but so far the system won't let me change it.

[Robert_Moriyama]

The metro-gnome thing is cute. I probably would have said yes, but since somebody else already did it, no. No need for copyright infringements.

Tao, you need the word in there, just like I said about Gareth's. That's only fair.

Everybody's 'snowstorm' is already pretty weak, but since I'm letting that slide, I'm not budging on the Buddha or the metronome.

Nate

PS. Good catch on the 'mettle,' BTW, but so far the system won't let me change it.

Nate

Ohhh ... I just noticed that I don't have a "Modify" button on some of my posts in this topic, including the one containing my story. Looks like it may relate to the age of the post -- the ones more than a couple days old only have "Quote" and "Delete".

So that's why Gareth reposted his whole story instead of just updating the original. Dammit, now I'll have to do likewise if I want to supersize my storm.

(Were you looking for a "Day After Tomorrow" New Ice Age sort of thing? If just using the words "gold(en) Buddha" and "metronome" is sufficient, why is the storm so important?)

Robert "You want SNOW??? Better get the parka out of the closet" M.

PS The Alan Dean Foster story even sounds like its title character lives in subway tunnels. I thought it was the Paris subway system that was called the Metro, but I guess it isn't the only one. And I guess metrosexualgnome would be going too far... ::)

[kailhofer]

Ohhh ... I just noticed that we don't have a "modify" button in this topic. So that's why Gareth reposted his whole story instead of just updating the original. Dammit, now I'll have to do likewise if I want to supersize my storm. (Were you looking for a "Day After Tomorrow" New Ice Age sort of thing? If just using the words "gold(en) Buddha" and "metronome" is sufficient, why is the storm so important?)

Robert "You want SNOW??? Better get the parka out of the closet" M.

You might just be joking, but I wasn't really looking for a big storm. It's just that everyone's (including my own, actually) doesn't really say the word 'snowstorm'.

At first, I wanted these 3 things to be physically be there in the text, then after seeing a few entries, I thought just having the words in there would be all right. Now, I'm willing to settle for a mention of snowstorm-like weather. But, darn it, I'm sticking to the words 'golden Buddha' and 'metronome' having to be in there.

Otherwise, it takes a lot of the 'challenge' away, and people seem to be liking that aspect of the concept.

Nate

[Robert_Moriyama]

Ohhh ... I just noticed that we don't have a "modify" button in this topic. So that's why Gareth reposted his whole story instead of just updating the original. Dammit, now I'll have to do likewise if I want to supersize my storm. (Were you looking for a "Day After Tomorrow" New Ice Age sort of thing? If just using the words "gold(en) Buddha" and "metronome" is sufficient, why is the storm so important?)

Robert "You want SNOW??? Better get the parka out of the closet" M.

You might just be joking, but I wasn't really looking for a big storm. It's just that everyone's (including my own, actually) doesn't really say the word 'snowstorm'.

At first, I wanted these 3 things to be physically be there in the text, then after seeing a few entries, I thought just having the words in there would be all right. Now, I'm willing to settle for a mention of snowstorm-like weather. But, darn it, I'm sticking to the words 'golden Buddha' and 'metronome' having to be in there.

Otherwise, it takes a lot of the 'challenge' away, and people seem to be liking that aspect of the concept.

Nate

For the next one, we should throw some really unusual words (and / or situations) in -- a "Whose Line Is It Anyway" for writers. www.refdesk.com has a Word of the Day (today's word is "midden") -- imagine taking a few day's worth of THOSE and insisting that they all be included in a story. Even nastier -- follow the links from refdesk.com to other sites with Word of the Day features -- today's Oxford English Dictionary word is "reck".

Robert M.  :D

[Robert_Moriyama]

The Guardian (revised - 890 words)

The Guardian was tired, bone-tired, claw-tired, fur-and-fang-tired. Outside the cave, the first snowstorm of winter raked the mountainside with pellets (too solid to be called flakes) of snow that could blind a man or bruise and even puncture his flesh.

Of course, the Guardian was not a man. His leathery hide and fur would allow him to walk, not in comfort, but without suffering harm, through the worst that the mountain winter might bring. Still, he hoped that the supply of dried tubers and herbs he had gathered from the lower slopes of Sagarmatha would last until the winds subsided enough that he could venture out without fear of being swept away. As it was, he might have to dig his way out -- the cave mouth would soon be filled with hard-packed snow, warmed just enough by what little heat escaped his well-insulated body to stick like fresh yak dung.

No, the storm would not harm him. His people had been born in the very rafters of the Roof of the World, and had long since adapted to its climate. But his nature could not protect him from the loneliness of his vigil. Ten years he had spent guarding the small, golden statue of the Buddha, ever since it had been delivered into his hands by monks bearing a letter from the Dalai Lama himself. Ten years, with no one to talk to except the ever-smiling Buddha, no voice to hear except the keening of the wind...

"Choden!"

The Guardian shook his great, shaggy head. For a moment, I thought I heard a voice -- a real voice, not just words in the wind, he thought. Perhaps after ten years, madness has come at last. Well, at least it should be entertaining --

"Choden! Are you there? Foolish woman, of course he is there --"

The dim light filtering into the cave through the swirling snow suddenly vanished, then reappeared around something large, something rounded ...

Now I am seeing things as well as hearing them, the Guardian thought. Perhaps if I meditate, I can send these apparitions back into the Void. He closed his eyes and intoned "Ommmmmmmmmmm..." in a voice that made the granite of the cave vibrate in sympathy.

"Choden, open your eyes. It is I, Khandro. I have come for you."

The Guardian closed his eyes even more tightly. He reached into a niche in the cave wall, found the metronome given to him by another lama, many years ago, and freed its pendulum. The slow, regular tock...tock...tock... had always helped him to meditate before. It was rhythm without meaning or purpose, without expectations or desire.

"Ommmmmmmmmmm--"

The metronome stopped. The Guardian opened his eyes, startled -- apparently the sound of the metronome did produce expectation of a sort, the expectation of the next tock, and the failure of that sound to occur was disturbing.

"Choden, your time as Guardian has ended. Another has been chosen to take your place."

The Guardian grunted, pawed at his eyes, and stared. "It is you, Khandro. I thought I was to remain here, to protect this image of the Buddha, for as long as I lived. What has changed?"

Khandro, a female considered quite lovely among The People of the Mountain, smiled. The dim light glinted softly from her lower fangs and filtered through her fine, silky fur as if through wispy clouds on a sunlit day. "There is a new Dalai Lama. He has decreed that this duty should be shared among the People."

"Ah," said the Guardian. "But surely you are not --"

Khandro laughed. "Chosen? No, no, at least not this time."

Choden, he thought, I have a name again, not just a title. "Then why are you here? The journey from our sanctuary is long and hard even in good weather. Surely the new Guardian could have brought me the news when he came to begin his vigil."

"He will not come until Spring," Khandro said, her eyes studying a pebble on the cave floor.

"Then why --"

Khandro slithered across the few meters of icy rock that separated them and buried her face in the fur covering Choden's neck. For a moment, Choden recoiled, wondering if she intended to tear out his throat, but then he realized that, although her fangs were working their way through the fur to his flesh, they were not biting so much as -- nibbling.

"Oh," he said. Then "Oh..."

He wrapped his arms around Khandro's warm, lithe body -- the first really warm thing he had touched in a decade -- and lowered his head to inhale the scent of her soft, rich coat.

"I never knew that you had such feelings for me," he said, as parts of him that had lain dormant for years awoke.

Khandro snickered, her body shaking in his arms. "I always knew that the Dalai Lama didn't choose you for your intelligence!"

He frowned, wondering whether he should try to come up with a clever answer. But somehow, clever words didn't seem very important (and she was right -- intelligence wasn't his strongest point).

After a few moments, he reached out and gently grasped the statue of the Buddha that he had protected for so many years, and turned it to face the back of the cave.

The End

[kailhofer]

For the next one, we should throw some really unusual words (and / or situations) in -- a "Whose Line Is It Anyway" for writers. www.refdesk.com has a Word of the Day (today's word is "midden") -- imagine taking a few day's worth of THOSE and insisting that they all be included in a story. Even nastier -- follow the links from refdesk.com to other sites with Word of the Day features -- today's Oxford English Dictionary word is "reck".

Robert M. :D

With a statement like that, I take it you like this story concept. (The little kid part of me is jumping up and down shouting, "See! I told you they'd like it!")

I'm all for your suggestion of throwing in some oddball words. I think it makes it a lot more challenging. "Reck" might be awfully hard, though.

I've mentioned these sites before, but http://www.seventhsanctum.com/generate. ... quicktheme
gives a random theme, and http://watchout4snakes.com/creativityto ... dPlus.aspx lets you choose words based on how obscure they are. (In case that last link doesn't work right, its the Random Word Plus feature).

Nate

[kailhofer]

Thanks for the entry, Kitanzi. Nice story.

Do you have a title you'd like to use when it's put into the poll for voting?

Nate

[kailhofer]

Reminder: Stories must be in by 11 p.m. central standard time, Monday, May 21, 2007 to be included in the poll for voting.

Don't miss out on your opportunity to be the winner of the first Aphelion/Lettercol Flash Fiction Challenge. I'm not eligible, so I hope you will be. Enter soon, and good luck.

It's only a thousand words max., so give it a try!


Nate

[kailhofer]

Well, I guess I never did say anything about more than one entry per person. Of course, you might be splitting your own vote that way.

Although, I think the snow globe is stretching it a wee bit far. I suppose that could be considered an implied mention of "snowstorm-like weather" if you kind of squinted really hard at it and wanted it to be that way... [grumble, grumble]

Nate

[kailhofer]

I suppose, but I think I have to disqualify it anyway.

There's not an expression of love between 2 characters, which was the biggest requirement on the specs. He may love the metronome, but it isn't personnified. It isn't a character. Neither, as written, was the Archaeopteryx.

Nate

[Robert_Moriyama]

I suppose, but I think I have to disqualify it anyway.

There's not an expression of love between 2 characters, which was the biggest requirement on the specs. He may love the metronome, but it isn't personnified. It isn't a character. Neither, as written, was the Archaeopteryx.

Nate

It was tastefully implied that he had a deeply emotional, long-standing relationship with the archaeopteryx. However, this is a venue visited by persons of all ages, so he tried to exercise some discretion. (The snow-globe was the archaeopteryx's favorite knick-knack, and breaking it led to a terrible fight ... hence, the gutting.)

Robert "Anything can be explained, if you look at it the right way. I favor hanging upside down from a rotating chandelier..." M.