#61 Cheating

The author sat there amazed at the very thought he had as he decided to write today’s part of a larger whole.

“I’ve been cheating the last few days – I must put something substantial together today!” It was second nature to think like this, in terms of effort put in. Despite the author’s knowledge that the art of writing (in which he doesn’t claim to be an expert… or even an intermediate…) is a non-linear one, old habits and beliefs of “quantity superiority” still persisted.

“Wait a moment”, the author mused, “Who am I cheating exactly?”

It was true – in this particular project he had no editor to appease, no deadline to meet, and perhaps as little as 1 regular reader. Who was he cheating if he ‘phoned a few in’, he wondered. It was only after he sat there for a moment, moving things about his desk, trying desperately to reorganize a life previously in motion of the past few days into one revolving around routine, that he realized that the only one he cheated was himself. A promise he had made, a goal he had set. And in cheating in the project, he was cheating himself. Being his harshest critic but also a critic who could shift perspective, the author knew he was too being too hard on himself. Another goal might be to let himself slide every once in awhile.

“Maybe I can phone in just one more”, he reasoned with himself, “After all, I did have a good idea earlier I could flesh out for tomorrow”. Reluctantly, the part of him that kept the rest so strictly in check let loose.

“Just don’t make it too obvious”, it warned as it allowed the seldom slacking off.

Honest Abe, Honest Tea © by ElizabethHudy


#60 Sixty Haiku

Another Haiku
For the Numero Sixty
Yep I Am Busy

Author Note: If you know why I’ve been busy yesterday and Today, then send me some positive thoughts. If you don’t know why, then send positive thoughts anyway 🙂


#58 Not Me

“Not again”, the writer said as he looked at his email. “No, I’m not writing about myself in that story – and yes my marriage is fine, thank you”.

It happened all the time. He wrote interesting stories about a variety of odd characters and somehow, someone he knew, would link some eccentricity of the character back to him. Or maybe something the character was going through, or maybe some setting.

“Ah, you wrote about somewhere within 500 miles of where you once lived as a child huh?”, a friend might start, “Bet Bob Weezilville is really you as a kid, isn’t he?!?”. The writer merely forced a chuckle and said “No, Bob isn’t me”. It was getting absurd.

So he sat down and crafted his polar opposite:

Wanda, a 87 year old female who lived in Argentina but was of nordic descent. Wanda gardened her whole life, had 10 children, married, divorced, and remarried 4 times, and spoke only a rare dialect of Himalayan folk language. Wanda ate nothing but carrots, drank coconut water, did not drive, but did enjoy ice skating and skiing when the weather allowed. She was also an irate, angry, bitter woman who nobody liked.

Satisfied, the writer penned Wanda’s first story. A simple piece about her gardening, a task that the writer himself actually abhorred, and learning a life lesson through radishes. He sent it to his publisher, and it appeared in his regular column in the next weeks paper.

The day after its publication, another email came in. The writer was overjoyed to see it was positive about Wanda’s story, and didn’t draw any allusion to the writer’s own life. That is, of course, until the last line, which read…

“Man, I never knew you had multiple personalities – next time Wanda comes out, give me a call – I gotta speak to her!”

Disappointment © by quinn.anya


#57 Fifty Six Is Waiting

Fifty Six is waiting you see
For the right time to appear
Trust that this gap is intentionally
Fifty Six will soon be here

Authors Note: 56 seriously is written, however I’m going to hold off on publishing it for a bit for personal reasons. We’ll jump to 57 for now 🙂


#55 Apostrophe Shrugged

“I don’t get it”, Apostrophe said to his friend, Comma. “People keep calling me up at all hours to go sit in “its” when they obviously want possession and not a contraction”.

“It’s your own fault Apos”, Comma said with a smile, “Just like me, people have figured out how darn useful you are, and sometimes they throw you in where you’re not needed”.

“I feel like a grammatical failure”, Apostrophe said sadly.

“Oh come now, you’re not a failure”, Comma said reassuringly.

“But I’m so misused, it’s horrible”, Apostrophe cried.

“No, what’s horrible are our friends who aren’t used at all – take ole Guillemmets – no one uses him at all except to be ‘cute'”, Comma said, “And poor Slash is always getting confused between his back and front!”.

“Yea, but it’s different to be overused incorrectly”, Apostrophe said.

“Hey buddy – at least you’re not Hyphen or Dash – those guys have complained for years”, Comma replied.

“Well… I guess it could be worse”, Apostrophe said as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Yea, at least we’re not…”, Comma started.

INTERROBANG!“, they said in unison.

And off in the typesetting wilderness, Interrobang sighed.

Portable Typewriters © by alexkerhead

#54 Waking Up

Anna sat up in the bed and yawned. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but lying there sleep had taken hold. It was dark out now, the afternoon sun fading into darkness. She felt groggy, and disoriented from her unexpected slumber.

She staggered over to her desk and sat down across from her laptop, still coaxing the sleep out of her eyes and trying to focus on the screen. She opened her email and found it overflowing with items. It had been empty a few hours before, and in frustration, Anna closed the program. She’d answer emails tomorrow. She turned her chair to face her television and flipped it on. One of her favorite sitcoms was on, replaying last week’s episode. She watched and got up to use the bathroom as the show ended. When she returned, she found another episode on. It was the same show, but she’d never seen this episode before. It wasn’t the show’s regular night, so she sat watching the episode and wondering how she could have missed it when it first aired. Oh well, at least she’d seen it now.

When the show ended, she got up and wandered out of her bedroom into the kitchen. She was hungry, but found that the leftovers from yesterday she craved had been eaten, no doubt by her parents who were not home now to yell at. She glanced at the clock and saw it was 8:30 PM. She was surprised her parents would go out without leaving a note, but shrugged it off. She was sitting on the couch in the living room when her mother and father walked through the door. They saw her in the living room, but quickly walked the opposite direction.

“Hey – who ate my salad?!?”, she called out as they passed. She wasn’t going to let them sneak away.

They both walked toward her with the strangest looks on their faces. Half astonished, half scared. Why were they acting like this? It wasn’t the first time she’d called them out on stealing their food, and it wasn’t like she was overly angry – it was more a playful thing than serious.

“What? Neither of you wants to admit it?”, she said with a slight chuckle.

“Anna…. how do you feel?”, her mom asked nervously as her father walked around her, eyeing her as if he hadn’t seen her in months.

“I feel fine Mom… what’s up with you two?”, she said.

“Julie, it might be her – really her”, Anna’s dad said to her mother. Her mother nodded, as tears flowed down her face.

“What’s going on?”, Anna said as her dad sat down next to her.

“Honey, you’ve been… sick… for months now”, he said slowly.

“What do you mean? I woke up from a nap, I feel fine!”, she said.

“What month is it Anna?”, her father asked.

“September”, Anna replied confidently.

“No dear… it’s March”, her dad said in reply.

Anna stared at him in disbelief. It wasn’t until she realized that some of the odd things she’d noticed earlier made sense, and she didn’t remember putting on these particular clothes that morning either.

“What happened?”, she asked quietly.

Her parents explained that she’d been in a sort of shell-shocked existence for months. She’d wake in the morning, go through a regular routine of preparing for her day, eating breakfast, and then simply return to her room and fall asleep again. She’d occasionally be up at night, but wouldn’t say anything, or do anything, except sit for a few moments and then head back to bed. Tonight when they walked in, they assumed she’d do the same, and were shocked when she called out. Her doctors were baffled, but her parents were happy to have her back.

To Anna, however, it was all just a groggy afternoon’s nap.


#52 Jim The Bunny Returns

Jim got off of the train car he’d hopped on to several hours earlier, and began to make his way back toward the Woods. He wasn’t back five minutes before he was hit in the back of the head by a rock.

“Who’s ruining my post-vacation buzz”, he said angrily.

“MEEEEEE”, growled Jabberpaw.

“Uh… Hi Jabber… Whatcha want”, Jim said as he noticed Jabber approaching rapidly.

“BILLLLL”, Jabberpaw snarled as he pulled from his pocket (Who knew bears had pockets?) his TurtleNet billing statement.

Now Jim knew full well why Jabber might be a bit upset. While traveling, Jim had jumped through a back door on one of Jabberpaw’s computers so he could stream video outside of IP restrictions (no jurisdiction in the world limits the Woods, IP wise). Jabberpaw probably exceeded his quota, which would explain his tightening grasp around Jim’s neck.

“Uh… hey buddy… can’t we work this out peacefully?”, Jim said as Jabberpaw dragged him away.

Several weeks later Jabberpaw was kickin’ it with Sylvester the snake, when Sylvester suggested they head back to Jabberpaw’s cave to watch a movie.

“Sound good”, Jabberpaw said as they moved toward his door. As he reached into his pocket for his keys, Sylvester noticed something strange.

“Hey Jabber – how long have you had that lucky rabbit foot’s keychain?”, Sylvester hissed. Syl hadn’t seen Jim in months, and his vacation was only supposed to last a few weeks.

“MONTH”, Jabber said, “Have it for 3 more weeks” he said as Sylvester looked at him quizzically.

It was only after Jabberpaw pulled the rest of his keychain out that he noticed that Jim had most definitely returned. Jim looked at him sadly as he emerged from Jabberpaw’s pocket, produced Jabberpaw’s key, unlocked the door, then was quickly shoved back in the bear’s humongous pocket.

“Great keychain”, Jabberpaw said with a smirk, “opens door for you”.

Bunny © by Moyan_Brenn