Tiny Tales of Terror

And now for something completely different—a mini story prompt. I hope you’ll share a sentence or tow to conclude this opening for a mini tale (or tail) of TERROR!   She rolled over and sighed, willing herself back to sleep. She stretched her legs, her feet reaching all the way to the bottom of the bed, brushing against a furry flank—her cat. But then she heard, the low, rumble of his purr and felt his whiskers brush her cheek. Her eyes blinking open to a familiar sight. Then WHAT was snuggling with her feet at the end of the bed?
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Six

“Six, six, six!” Five left fists pounded the table. Five right hands lifted glasses at the end of the chant. Dan and Alex chased their shots of whiskey with beer, Alice bit into a lime wedge after her tequila, Mike was satisfied with his shot of bourbon and Rina simply took a sip of the bar’s mediocre red. “Didn’t she say she’d be here?” Dan demanded of Rina. “She said she’d do a stop by. You know how busy she is and…” “And she had a meeting, right? Now, what time was that meeting?” “Six.” “You said six! Your turn
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Murder at the Vicarage

I just reread ‘Murder at the Vicarage.’ Reading a mystery when you already know the solution is an unusual exercise. It’s a great way to study the structure of the story and, under the spell of Agatha Christie, to doubt your own memory of who-dunnit. Yes, after having read this classic mystery in my distant past and seeing countless dramatizations, Agatha Christie managed to make me doubt what I knew to be true! At one point I told myself I know that X shot the victim—I even remembered how Miss Marple solved the mystery—but the dangling red herrings had me
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The Grand Mess

I spent a great deal of time over the Christmas/New Year’s holidays cleaning up and cleaning out. This was deeper than de-cluttering—although the result was a significant decrease is the ‘noisy’ clutter around my desk. My concentration was on easing bags of books, old papers and miscellaneous stuff out of my apartment. Cleaning out the cabinet under the bathroom sink was akin to an archeological dig into my heath & beauty past with stuff I haven’t used for years. Shedding stuff felt good. Of course I found a few treasures: including the form letter I received as a child from
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Post ARTum Blues

Finishing a manuscript—or any other long/large creative project—is a process and when it’s over there’s a strange emptiness. I think the best way to describe it is an artist’s version of postpartum blues. My case of post ARTum blues is finally lifting. What was my therapeutic Rx? Just a little of this and a little of that. The most effective therapy was a big ‘art fix’ at the Museum of Modern Art where I took in the mammoth Picasso sculpture show, and the exhibit on the evolution of Jackson Pollock’s work, followed by a waltz through the museum’s current contemporary
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Size of the Joke

The big man in the little suit; the tiny girl descending the staircase in her mother’s evening clothes; the cliché of nouvelle cuisine as one-inch square meatball with three dots of colorful sauce on a large, white plate; the diminutive Jack Russell intimidating the Great Dane; reed skinny Stan Laurel & round Oliver Hardy… Size matters in descriptive visuals and sizable contrasts in size produce humor. I giggled when I saw a picture taken with one of my tall friends at a Tango dance. We’re both wearing heels so it is not her shoes making her tower over me. She
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Biology is Destiny?

As I slogged through the last couple of hours of ‘The Man in the High Castle’ (Amazon’s series inspired by Philip K. Dick’s 1962 Hugo Award Winner) my focus wandered from the action of the story to the physical appearance of the characters. How and why actors are cast in roles has a great deal to do with their appearance. This is not news to anyone, but there are subtle, and sometimes interesting, ramifications of casting. In real life, we all encounter people who defy quick definitions. Women who are compelling and very attractive without being conventionally beautiful or even
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Big Ideas in Short Stories

Now that the first draft of the new novel is safely in its “cold storage” phase (aka the waiting period before the second draft), I’ve turned my attention back to short stories. For years, I’ve struggled with the question: Is this idea worthy of a novel or is it destined for a short story? It’s often obvious. Classic short story ideas lend themselves to O. Henry-style twists or shaggy dog rambles down a garden path. It’s not so obvious when the short story is character driven and I’m tempted to hang out with the fictional person for more than the
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Gambling

I’m not a gambler. Um, well, I’m not a conventional gambler. Just being a writer is gambling. I pound out story starts that may never get endings. I submit or share drafts and hope my work will be well received. And I do freelance work to keep the lights on so I can write fiction into the night. Writing leaves enough to chance for me, but many people love to gamble and I’m fascinated by their worship of LUCK. When I learn that a friend, client, colleague or acquaintance enjoys trips to Atlantic City and/or Vegas, buys lottery tickets on
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