I'd like to see your skill applied to one of the following descriptions: (1) Boy and girl (both around 8 years old), who don't know each, other show up nearly the same time on the school football field to fly their new kites. (2) Boy, about 8, finds a stray puppy down the street past his home. (3) Boy, about 8 (no imagination for me, huh?), runs into bully (about 9) on his way to the candy store (circa 1950). Ok, ok, so it's not much to go on. (grin) Whip up something for me! About 400 words, give or take as needed. Or politely decline...after all, no one likes surprises. And I apologize up front for "putting you on the spot."

In retrospective (right word usage?), I think I should throw the challenge out to anyone interested. I was nervous about suggesting a small challenge and then having no one give it a second look. Kinda cheap of me to put her on the spot 'cause I was "chicken". So, I could delete it or invite the entire forum. Nothing wrong with some diversity...hehe.

Well, I couldn't really do it. I do not know anything about children, not having any of my own and not remembering what it was like to be eight and never having been a boy, but here's my try. It's twice as long as it should be but I guess I'm too lazy to edit. I know lots of people here will beat me on this one. I look forward to reading their results....especially Chuck's!! 9/16/02 C.B. and the Dog C.B. kicked the can. It rattled and rolled down the sidewalk and stopped in a clump of dry weeds. Stupid can. If Tank were there, hed have marched on ahead and smashed the can with his big foot. But Tank wasn't there. He was with his mom and dad and they were going to New Orleans. Stupid Tank. His name wasnt really "Tank." But nobody called him by real name: Thomas Arthur Nickel. What kind of name was that? They all called him Tank. And he was C.B. even though his real name was Charles Brace, Jr. No, just Charles Brace. There was no Charles Brace, Sr. now. Not anymore. Not since his dad died. Last August his dad said hed take him to the mountains this summer. But then in September it all changed and his dad died and he wasnt going anywhere now. Stupid mountains. Anyway everyone called him C.B. Not Junior. Only his dad had called him Junior. No one would call him that again. Even his mom called him C.B. because she said she hoped it would get him to talk up more. He didnt get what she meant by that. But he liked being C.B. Most of the time. But he missed being Junior. He was up to the can again. He missed his kick, kind of. The can hit off the side of his foot, spun into the gutter, and started to roll down toward the drain. Stupid can. He started after it. Nothing better to do. But the can dropped out of sight down the dark hole. Stupid can. He started to walk off when he heard the cry. A sad thin howl came from the dark hole. Sounded like a dog. A dog? What was a dog doing down there? Stupid dog. Hey, dog. What are you doing down there? Another moan. Stupid dog. He lay down beside the hole and reached down. He felt whiskers and a wet nose. A tongue licked his fingers. He felt around, pushing as far as he could until he could feel the fur on the dogs back. He made a grab but the dog pulled away. Stupid dog. Come on. You want out? Come on. Another little cry. He pulled out of the hole and searched his pockets. A couple of pennies. A piece of bubble gum. A plastic airplane with smashed wings. Crumbled bits of cookie. He chewed on the bubble gum to help him think. Another little moan from the dog. Im going to leave you down there. I am. You can just stay down there. See if I care, you stupid dog. He pulled a little bit of the gum out of his mouth and pressed the cookie crumbs in it. He lay back down and reached into the hole again. There was the nose. The tongue licking at the gum and cookies and pulling the sticky combination out of his hand. He knew from before how big the dog was. Now he knew where to grab. He caught fur and loose skin behind the dogs head and he pulled up. The dog gave a cry of surprise and pain but didnt try to get away. C.B. pulled the dog to the surface. Not a dog. A puppy. A thin, dirty, yellow puppy with chocolate eyes and a long old tongue. He sat up and just held it. The puppy licked all over his face. The tail beat against his bare legs. You there. Give me my dog. A boney man with some hair on his chin came toward him. Hes my dog. Isnt either. Ive been looking for that mangy animal. You give him back. As he stood up, C.B. held onto the dog with his left hand while he picked up the airplane with his right. Ill give you this if you let me keep the dog. The man blew a sound out his nose. What do I want with a broken toy? Give me that mongrel. The man reached forward. C.B. kicked hard as he could between the mans legs and threw the plane down. And then he ran. He ran holding the dog all bunched up against him. He ran down the street and into his yard and into his house where his mother was watching television. My lord, C.B., what did you get into? She got up and stepped toward him. Youre all over dirt. She knelt in front of him. What is that you have? My dog, he said. Yourdog? For the first time in more than a year tears were running down C.B.s cheeks and the puppy licked feverishly to wipe them away. My dog. Hes my dog. He was in the drain and I got him out. And hes mine. She opened and closed her mouth. She took out a tissue and wiped the dirt and tears from his face. Whats his name? Hes . hes Stupid Dog. And C.B. smiled. And it was the first smile he had in more than a year. Okay.why dont we call him S.D. for short. How bout that? He held on to the puppy, she held on to him, and thats how they stayed for quite awhile.

Oooh, that was delicious! As I was thinking of suitable subject matter, I briefly thought about a few variations on each. Yours, though, is much better any thing I had considered. I think you captured the emotions of a little boy "pissed" at the world pretty well. I think I could suggest a few improvements to some word choices. "...can hit off the side..." I think I'd replace "hit" with "glanced" ...ran down the street and into his yard and into his house ..." It just may be a grammatical sort of thing with me and I realize the multiple use of the words, "and into", could be a literary technique. But for me, I find it more pleasing to read: "...ran down the street, across his yard, and into his house ..." I guess you have gotten me spoiled. I just flow down your words with ease. So when I find a ripple in that flow, it sticks out for me. Other small nagging items: Who's Tank? (I think he's CB's friend and if I am correct, wonder if it would improve to slip that in) Do you think an 8-year-old boy would kick an adult between the legs? Possibly. In NY, Chicago, or East LA (to name a few cities), maybe. But, he's you character. I liked the repeated use of "stupid this" and "stupid that" used in the story. I think it captures the mood of CB. As usual, thanks for sharing!

I was trying to think what a resourceful kid would do. We had a situation down here where a little girl about 8 got away from a would be kidnapper because she kicked him where it would hurt most, because that's what her parents told her to do (she also screamed, scratched, and resisted this guy all the way...thank goodness, she didn't get hurt in the process). I was thinking this kid wouldn't just give up this dog but an 8 year old wouldn't be able to hit with his fists with enough force (unless he was a martial arts expert and I didn't want this to get silly). But most kids can kick and make it hurt enough to give an adult pause. If I was going to rewrite it and give myself some more room, I'd probably fill in more background about the kind of things his dad taught him how to do because I had this vision toward the end about where his dad died and what he was doing when he died...and I think he was like his kid, that he was trying to rescue someone. I just have that idea but I don't know where it came from and I couldn't fit it in without detouring the story (space issues). This time I was more focused on the symbolism and not as worried about the background. I started out with the word "glanced" but I don't think an 8 year old would use that word. I generally was trying to write it with words he would use (with some obvious exceptions when I couldn't think of a good alternative). That's why I stayed loose on the grammar and the punctuation. I didn't expand on Tank because Tank wasn't important...what was important to me was the sense of lost this kid has...of people leaving him and maybe not coming back. And I was trying to stay with C.B. as much as I could....letting his thoughts roll out on the page without my interference. But, as always, if it stops you as a reader, then it is worth rethinking. This was pretty much of a rough draft...I don't know that I'll go back to it. I just wanted to give your challenge a try. Because that's the kind of gal I am. ;) So, anyone else going to give it a try?

I'd love to take up the challenge but it will have to wait til after this weekend. I have a big competition which is taking all my concentration and inspiration.

I hope when your competiton is done, you'll feel inspired to come back and give it a try. I love reading what other people do with the same challenge. :)

In my case it's cats. My kids always try to bring them in. One night on my paper route a small black kitten crawled out of a ditch just as I walked up to the house to throw the paper on the porch. Two days later after an arm full of scratches, stuff on the carpet, and fleas in my kids' beds, the kitten was returned. My nine,six, and two year old learned their dad just isn't a cat person even for a short time.

Who cares how many words it is...good story! (Well, I don't. It's not my challenge.) I was born long enough ago that I remember that there was boy stuff and girl stuff, and one neighbor lectured my mother for letting me wear my brother's hand-me-downs and allowing me to play with his toys. Well, he had all the good stuff...trains, building blocks, cowboys and horses. I didn't want to be stuck with the baby dolls that wet their pants. Good job!! I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Well, I'm CERTAINLY not going to quibble about word length. (grin) After all, dialyn's count, I believe, was 872! But since NEITHER was tedious, it didn't matter. In fact, both were over before I "knew" it. Personally, I was too young to remember the Commie scare even though I was born in '51. Or else, it just didn't matter to me (or my family). I wet the bed till I was 6 and THAT was the single most important thing to me at the time. I also remember wanting a pair of pedal-pushers. But we were poor. I hesitate to suggest a few word thingies, I and my unhoned skills but... "...and went to the other side of the field, and tossed his kite..." It's the same thing I said to kialyn. Why does it bother me to the point of mentioning it? To me, it should read: "...went to the other side of the field, and tossed his kite" Of course, it doesn't really have anything to do with the sound story. And for clarity's sake... "the 2 lines crossed... changed to "...but the 2 lines crossed..." Those of you who know me through this forum might suspect I'm a softie. Therefore, it should come as no surprise I was wondering if, after a small spat, she was going to offer to fly the kite together. I really enjoyed the story. And, of course, I HAD to chuckle at her retort about her mommy being told to fly a kite. (grin) Thanks for sharing (AND responding)!

Yeah, I hadn't counted on the subtlety (sp?) of using words appropriate to the age of the child. As to Tank, at first, I thought it might be his big brother (because the last name hadn't been given by then and the reference to big feet). Then it became clear THAT wasn't the case. So, I thought it could easily have been fixed by, "If Tank, his best friend, were there...". Although a bit old at either years, even, "...his bestest friend...". But it's clear you put a lot of thought into why you wrote how you wrote. And to have done it so fast! Makes me envious.

So, Chuck, when do we see yours? I like your writing more than mine. Don't leave us with another sample. :)

Gosh, what a choice! Follow behind you guys or choose the third story topic? Ugh. I'd have to be tipsy first. Hehe.

I'll buy the drinks if you write the story.

Hmmm, a t-shirt with the words, "Will Write For Beer" comes to mind. Or is that, "Have Beer? Will Write."

297 words, according to M$

Billy pushed his glasses back up his nose and mustered the fiercest look he had. "This is my money," he growled. His shoulders sagged as the brave words came out like a puppy's whine.

Johnny thrust a meaty hand into Billy's shoulder and laughed as the younger kid sprawled onto the pavement. "It's my money now, shrimp."

Billy straightened his glasses. "This is my paper route money. I earned it!"

"And now it's my safety money. You give it to me, you stay safe." He leaned over, his shadow blotting out the sun. "It takes a lot of papers to buy new glasses, four eyes."

Billy winced as he reached into his pocket. Gravel and grit with flecks of blood smeared the pocket lining. His mother was going to kill him when he got home!

Impatient, Johnny took a step closer, his left foot by Billy's right knee. His left foot was positioned between Billy's legs.

"This isn't fair!" Billy drew out the coins he'd worked so hard for. He glanced down at them, their brilliant gleam eclipsed by Johnny. The gutter beckoned, but Billy knew he'd pay for his defiance if he threw the coins. He held up his hand in supplication.

"Enough for a whole bag of jawbreakers," Johnny said.

"One and a half bags," Billy replied without thinking.

"What are you still doing here, four eyes? Are you expecting the other half?" Johnny snarled.

Billy scuttled out from under his tormentor, then slowly got up and backed away.

"And you better not tell your parents, or I'll find you. I know where you live!"

Billy backed around the corner before turning around, heading home. He began whistling a sad, strange tune. And I know where you live. And I know where your puppy lives.

Alfred Hitchcock would be proud....that's a nasty little twist at the end. Congratulations on 297 well spent words! Glad you took time to play. :) Ohhhh, Chuck..............!

Now you see, Cres, when I scrolled the window up and saw there was little story left, I thought the little thug was going to walk away free and clear. But in one final little paragraph, you snapped me 180 degrees! Welcome to the 90s, Johnny!!! That is a nice one! (bonus points for landing closest to the word target...hehe) There ARE a couple of sentences I reread several times, though. I may be admitting my ignorance but for the life of me, I can't figure "Are you expecting the other half?" out. I must have backed up about six times and read it again, but I'm at a complete loss. Also, this seems repetitive or cumbersome to me: "...his left foot by Billy's right knee. His left foot was positioned..." I'm going to assume you were careful in this description to make the reader wonder if Billy was going to, how shall I say it, give him a lesson in time relativity. This seems better to me: "Johnny took a step closer, guided his left foot past Billy's right knee, and positioned it between Billy's legs." Once again, it seems I have a phobia about repetition...grin. And before I take leave, I'd like to thank you for the honor of your attention (bows).

Okay, so Johnny has two left feet .... ;-) I meant that his left foot was by Billy's right knee and Johnny's right foot was in "goal kicker" position. I wasn't sure if the "other half" remark was clear. Billy amended Johnny's calculations of how much the money could buy, not one bag, but 1 1/2 bags of jawbreakers. I was trying to have Johnny say, "Oh, and you're expecting the other half bag?" but in a more menacing way. This has been a fun exercise! As I wrote, I kept stopping and thinking about what my writing books say about how to structure things, and I think the piece came out stronger than my older writing. Yep, still needed some editing in the final outcome, but you guys are forcing me to improve, so I'm a happy camper. Okay, we still have some hold outs! Who's next?

OK, first, I'm over the word limit, too. Second, I hope my clues as to what is going on aren't too obvious or too vague. I wanted to make the readers wonder as the story progressed. But, it's a tightrope. Comments and critique appreciated. Thanks for your time. (I had to post to my own suggestion, right?) --------------------------------------------------------- The night was a bit cooler than Joey had figured. Of course, he wasnt outside often at this late hour. He tucked his hands inside his jacket pockets, curled them up, and drew them toward each other, pulling the material together. His heart raced keeping pace with the plodding of his worn out pair of sneakers. He was excited. And scared. There wasnt much sound in the air except for the rustling of the contents of his backpack. He shifted it a bit and changed his direction to carry him through the shadier parts of the small yards he was intruding upon. Yards attached to small dark houses asleep for the night. He was at least three blocks away from his home now and all was going as planned. Up ahead, he saw the shadows thinning out as the corner streetlight came into view from behind an old oak tree. He scanned ahead for a safe passage and decided to veer left, cutting the corner off someones yard. Cautiously, he made his way between a mounding patch of neglected shrubs and a pile of misshapen garbage that resembled the efforts of a serious garage-cleaning. Ahhhhyahhh! The boyish little scream escaped his lips before he could stop it. Yelp! Joey heard another noise join his, erasing the silence as he fell face-forward toward the ground. He panicked and tried to yank his hands from his pockets to break the fall but there wasnt time. His eight-year-old body slammed on the overgrown grass making a strange whompf sound followed by a cacophony of sounds as only the candy bars, potato chips, and soda cans in his backpack could make. Quickly, he scurried to his side and instinctively side-pedaled his feet to escape the source of the surprise only to catch a glimpse of something hairy doing the same thing as it buried itself between an oil-stained cardboard box and a broken laundry basket. Joey forced himself to calm down and looked closer at the shivering animal. It appeared to be a dog. No, more precisely, a puppy. Joey looked around to see if any lights had sprang to life but the streetlight was the only unwelcome illumination. A quick check of expected aches and pains revealed Joeys fall had created more noise than bruises. His arm hurt but he knew that had happened this morning. So he turned his attention once again to the puppy that was curled up in a disheveled ball. Here, Boy. Joey whispered. And he made a few smooching sounds for good measure. Joey moved slowly forward a foot or so and held out his hand. The puppys head raised and looked at it. Then, it crawled forward a bit, careful to keep its body flat to the ground. Thats it. Come on. Joey pulled his left shoulder in and carefully slipped the strap of his backpack off. The puppy watched. Joey could tell it was scared and slowed his motions down. A few soothing words of encouragement from his lips held the attention of the puppy as he opened his sack and searched its contents for a suitable offering for a puppy. He settled on a bag of half-eaten peanuts, sprinkled a few into his empty hand, and slowly held out his offering. The puppy stood up halfway on wobbly, shaky legs and sniffed. Licked. And then buried his nose in Joeys hand eagerly gobbling up the salty nuggets. Joey took the opportunity to reach out and pet him with the other hand and the dog moved closer, looked into Joeys face, obviously asking for more. Thats a GOOD boy! Joey whispered as he located a bag of chips, opened them to a pair of curious eyes, and poured them on the ground. Joey was more confident now and petted the puppy with less hesitation. And the puppy moved closer to him. Thats when he noticed what terrible shape the puppy was in. Gook of unknown origin was caked in the corners of his eyes. Dirt and grime coated his fur and closer inspection revealed scabs on his left flank. Ribs of a starved animal completed the scene. Joey stopped petting him as the last of the chips were licked from the grass. The puppy inched closer to Joey, obviously scared, as if contact would result in a whipping. Too many memories flooded Joeys head as he stroked the poor puppy. Somebody been mean to you? Joey cooed in his tattered ear. The puppy responded to his question with a pathetic wag of his tail. Come on, Boy. Come with me. Im going somewhere where people arent mean. And with that, Joey packed up, stood up, and with his new companion, put more distance between him and his house.

Today is my anniversary, so if it looks a bit rushed, that is my excuse. 40 minutes was ALREADY a bit too long to spend on it. Hate to neglect my wife on this day. I usually try to do that on less important days...(smile)

dialyn - you really captured the voice of the child. I could hear him speaking all through the piece. Keeping the narration consistant through the story is really difficult and you did a great job with it. My one problem was that I got lost with who Tank was. I'd assumed that it was his older brother, so when you talked about Tank being with his mom and dad in New Orleans, I thought CB was left behind, maybe staying with an aunt. Then when you said that CB's dad was dead, I re-read the passage several times and still couldn't figure it out. I finally saw the full name for Tank and CB, but I'd glazed over the real names because the nicknames were more interesting. You might want to say something like, "Stupid Tank. What's the point of a best friend if he isn't around when you need him?" to clarify it for the lazy readers like myself. The ending sentence was very strong, not just how the story ended, but how you phrased the ending. ************ nube - your piece was definitely a slice of 50's Americana. I really enjoyed it. You also did an excellent job with keeping the narration consistantly focused. I not only saw the boy, but his nemesis, Amy. (I just see those two squaring off, over and over again, through the years.) I couldn't find anything to nitpick, either. I can envision a Norman Rockwell painting of the scene, the girl marching off, head up high while the boy is staring at her, tongue stuck out at her back. ************ Chuck - I was trying to decide if I should be sad or slightly hopeful at the end of your story. Well done, bittersweet stories are incredibly difficult to pull off, and you really came through on it. As much as I liked the story, a few sentences stuck out a bit to me, such as "The boyish little scream escaped his lips before he could stop it." I had to wonder if Joey would have heard his own yelp that way. Once or twice you step back from Joey's point of view, and it's a bit jarring to me. Except for one or two sentences, you really kept true to the character as well. And if this was only a rush job, I really want to see a story you take some time on! ************ This was a great challenge, Chuck! Boy, has everyone really come through on this one! Who's next to wow us with their work?

Thanks, Crescent. I didn't realize what a big pain Tank was going to be as a non-character. This is a lesson in what is clear in your own head can be a problem for someone else. Which is the only problem I have with Chuck's story. I'd like to be let in on what Joey's plan is. I'm a little worried where a little boy and a straggly dog are going. He's excited (about leaving his family) but I'd rather like to know what he thinks he'd be going to since he seems so confident it will solve his problem. All was "going as planned"...but what is the plan? does he have any money? (I don't know that he has anything in his bagpack but peanuts.) Is he going to a relative? Where is the somewhere where people aren't mean? I guess I want some rassurance he'll be okay. Which is a compliment, Chuck. You made me care about Joey, but I dont' feel quite finished with him at the end of the story. That's probably just me.

Cres: "'The boyish little scream escaped his lips before he could stop it.' I had to wonder if Joey would have heard his own yelp that way." I hate it when someone points out a flaw right at a place I remember anguishing over (grin). I added "boyish" after reading the original sentence over. "Once or twice you step back from Joey's point of view, and it's a bit jarring to me." I think I know what you mean. If you come back to the thread, pick out a glaring example for me so I'm sure. And thanks for reading and commenting. dialyn: "but I'd rather like to know what he thinks he'd be going to since he seems so confident it will solve his problem. All was "going as planned"...but what is the plan?" From the perspective of an 8-year-old, and assuming readers of the story realize he is an abused child, it hadn't been thought out. To me, he was just eight. I tried to show his inability to understand the full scope of what running away really meant by revealing some of the contents of his backpack--snacks. "does he have any money? (I don't know that he has anything in his bagpack but peanuts.)" Well, the chips are certainly gone...hehe. At one point, though, I did list a few contents of the backpack. Besides running short of words to expend, I thought I could get by with the "short list" of contents. Giving the reader the idea that he had taken just about the same thing any 8-year-old would have taken. As to money? Maybe I should have sqeezed in a remark about emptying his piggybank. "Is he going to a relative? Where is the somewhere where people aren't mean? I guess I want some rassurance he'll be okay." Yes, the story does leave one wondering about his safety. As I wrote the story, I glimpsed a somewhat happy ending that involved spending one night in a park with his dog, the police finding him, and a return to his home where the person abusing Joey listens to Joey's pleas to keep the dog because someone had been mistreating the poor thing. This then resulted in an epiphiny for this person. Thanks for reading and responding. PS: I'm sure I must have stretched it to the limits of literary tolerance, but do I get extra points for working the word, "cacaphony" in there?

Actually, to be honest, cacaphony stopped me. Because I wanted to stay with being a 8 year old boy who is on what he perceives as an adventure as well as an escape, and that made me think instantly: this an adult and not a child. Is it a memory? We're not told that in the story, but if it is a memory, and was set up like that (the well educated adult looking back on a time when he was a frightened little boy), then maybe I wouldn't have been jarred by it. And maybe then I would have had that sense of relief, knowing that everything did turn out well without you having to explain it further. But that would have, perhaps, broken your suspense had you not been careful about wording it. Not ever having been an 8 year old boy, I don't know how different it is for the guys than it might be for a gal, but the one time I thought about running away, I included 7 pairs of underwear, a couple of books (to read), emptied out my piggybank, and took some soup and a can opener. yup, soup. One thought I had after posted is whether or not you you considered having the child feel relief rather than excitement (relief at getting away for a night from abuse), have him not have a plan but simply trying to escape an intolerable situation, and acting instinctively, and finding comfort in another living thing that has had the same experience. Just like me putting in Tank made the reader anticipate I had something to say about Tank (which I didn't and so Tank became as mistake as written), putting the word "plan" in makes me a reader anticipate you'll tell about the plan. But I may very well be the only who had that reaction. Anyway, I did enjoy the story and I don't want to overthink it. It's hard to give feedback on a story without going over the edge and taking the story away from the writer, which is not my intent at all. It is your story and I find it interesting how the same plot point could be turned into two different directions (and I'm sure even more). :)

My NUMBER ONE RULE in here (and with gallery comments), dialyn: Appreciate it ANYTIME ANYONE has ANYTHING to say about your efforts as long as it doesn't resemble a remark like, "Well, THAT sucks!" Without having some feedback, it's difficult to know how to improve. I may agree or may disagree with what someone had to say. I think I'm fairly objective and scrutinize all comments. The problem for me is one you touched upon: Sometimes the writer sees the entire image or scene in her/his mind and overlooks a detail that needs to be moved from the brain to the writing. I, for example, added the final short paragraph because my wife suggested I had never clearly stated which direction the boy was headed. She considered it entirely possible he had stayed out too late and was sneaking home. In my mind, I never even SAW that aspect of it. So, this is my verbose way of saying thanks for the response! (And anyone else wanting to embrace "Chuck's Number One Rule" wouldn't be doing a bad thing, IMO.) PS: Soup, huh? (LOL)

Chicken noodle soup. You tend to remember things like that. Don't know why. Hope you had a great anniversary celebration. :) I spent Saturday struggling with my mother and Poser 5. In neither case did I win.

ROFLOL! I was thinking CNS. Then, wondered if it might have been "Chicken and Stars". Yeah, I knew you were going to tinker with P5. I checked your gallery for something new just in case. As to your mother (grin) we should take a poll and see what the typical outcome is when child -vs- mother. (hehe)

You won't see anything Poser 5 rendered from me for a long time. I am not terribly happy with my purchase at this moment. :( I never liked chicken and stars. Tell me what the difference is. I don't know. But it had to be chicken noodle soup. I ran away for such a short period of time that my mother didn't know that's what I was doing. We had an acre of land. I think I got to the opposite end and then stopped. My plan wasn't very well thought out at all.

Attached Link: A little frustrated with Poser 5

:)

See, now THAT'S the kind of gallery shot you need to enable comments on...I about busted a gut!

I thought I should have indicated a possible "violence" indicator. I'm sure I'll hear from an outraged Curious Labs person but, good grief, this is a challenging program!

Finally I've come up with a contribution to Chuck's little challenge. Vicious Cycle JJ was afraid of just about everthing. That was a fact which he tried to keep hidden, especially from his father. JJ walked across the playground,kicking pebbles in his way as he thought of last night. Last night he had been unable to hide his fear of the dark and his father had beaten him. He rubbed his hand over his still sore behind and scowled. He wasn't a sissy, really. His thoughts were interupted when he ran smack into someone. "Hey!" he grunted looking down into the fightened eyes of Clarence, the new boy. He got the sudden impression that here was someone more scared of things than was he. This made him feel superior and he like that feeling. "Hey!" he said again, "Watch where you're going!" Clarence scuffled out of the way of JJ's clumsy shove. "Ssssorry" he stammered. How many times had JJ said that as his father stood threatening above him? "Sorry isn't good enough!" he shouted, echoing his father's words. He shoved again and the smaller boy sprawled in the dust at his feet. A feeling of power surged through JJ and he lunged forward. Strong hands grabbed him before he could throw a punch into that tear streaked little face. It was a face that reminded him too much of himself. He hated that face-that look of submission. He tried to attack again, to obliterate the tears and fear, but the teacher's hands were too strong. JJ sat in the principal's office waiting for his parents to pick him up. He was not sorry. He wrapped the fading impression of power around himself, hoping it would keep him strong in front of his father. They came at last, his mother tearful and quiet as always. His father looked at him with an expression that JJ had never seen before. Could it be? Was his father actually proud of him? He didn't dare look more closely so he missed the smile on his father's face as the big hand cuffed his head more gently than ever before. As they walked out to the car, they passed Clarence looking small and lonely. JJ smiled a terrible little smile and felt the strength flow back through him. For the first time he looked forward to school the next day.

Caledonia...that's scarier than any of the Halloween stories. I especially like him wrapping "the faded impression of power around himself." Quite a powerful, and sad, ending. I'm glad you took up the challenge. Excellent!

Well, one of the people who were closer to the target on wordcount...hehe. Interesting story. And, from what I hear and read, factually-based. For a moment there, at the end, I thought the dad had seen the error of his ways but such was not the case. "...as the big hand cuffed his head more gently..." One of those things I keep going back to over and over trying to figure out what bothers me about it but all I can come up with is the word, "cuffed". Otherwise, punctuation, etc. aside, it reads pretty well to me. BTW, I had to break into a smile when I read dialyn's favorite line because I thought the same thing as I read those same words. Thanks for "playing" and sharing!

Another good group of stories, it was a pleasure to read them... I'm so sorry I cannot think my stories in English, I'd like to put my hand at this topic, just to see how can I handle children... It has been a pleasure to read your ones, I'm sorry I had been able to connect again only yesterday, or I've commented each one when it had been entered...

Caledonia, Although the ending was depressing, I appreciated it because it rang true. You didn't cop out and do a sitcom ending; you looked at the characters and had them act consistantly. You also tricked us, making us sympathize with JJ until we realized what he was like inside. Not my choice of bedtime stories, but definitely well done! Good night.

Here is my effort to this challenge :). Please remember that I don't have a word processor on my computer so I may have missed some errors. * * * * * * * * * * The Letter Dear Mum, Life's so hard here in North Queensland. Even after two years since Dan's Death. DJ... Sorry, ...Danny (as he now prefers to be called since last week), still hasn't talked since that day. I don't know what to do it. Today's been like any other day. Danny shuffled into the kitchen, ate breakfast, kissed me and went to school. He's learning, but still won't talk or participate. The school keeps calling me, complaining about it and all I can say to them is; if his grades aren't suffering, then don't stress. Danny'll be home soon, so I'll finish this tonight. OMG!! Danny's spoken. I am so happy. His first words were "I'm keepin' it! It's mine!", and after a while I got him to tell me the whole story... Danny was coming home from school. As usual, he took the long way home via the main street, turning down a side dirt road that goes under the wooden railway bridge [I had to smile at his forlorn look when he added that there was no coal train passing over] that becomes the dirt road that acts as our street to five houses. But when he started to pass the local swimming creek, Danny said he heard a noise. So he went to have a look. He saw this mean looking old man dupming a moving sack into the creek, so he hid when the old man stood and stayed hid until the old man had gone back to the main road. After the old man was gone, Danny said he ran over to the creek. He heard a noise coming from the sack, so he ran down the side of it to catch up to the sack, laid on the ground and reached for it and grabbed it without falling in, he said proudly. I just beamed at him. After he got the bag out of the water, Danny said he opened the sack and found this. And he thrusted this dripping wet Blue Heeler puppy at me, then snatched it back, almost stranging it in his arms and cried "I'm keepin it! It's mine!" What could I say? I just hugged him and said "Of course Dear." We stayed like that, for how long? I don't know. I can't call you till next week. Call me when you can. Love Your Daughter-in-Law, Sarah

Oh, very nice POV ! I'm going to accuse you of hiding behind the coloquialism (ugh...spelling) of a letter to escape adjective duty though...hehe. I got confused on the first paragraph...too many "Dans" for me. But I figured it out after a fashion. (Slaps self). "...thrusted this dripping wet Blue Heeler puppy at me, then snatched it back, almost stranging it in his arms and cried "I'm keepin it! It's mine!" I think that's one of the best parts! I'll feebly try to explain why: It sort of sums up most of the story. DJ already lost his dad. The pain was so great he couldn't deal with it. Finally something comes along that's just what he needs to break out and he's so scared of losing it, too, that he is very forceful and demanding...even to his mother. Something like that. Thanks for sharing/"playing" with us. PS: Whut's uh Blue Heeler? Anythang like ar Blue Tic coon dawgs here in Gawja?

Attached Link: Blue Heeler

Oh SHIT ! Next time, I should swallow my beer before looking! Shall we call him "Cucumber Dawg"?

Thanks for the comments Chuck. Ummmm... Your accusation escapes me (LOL No pun intended), but honestly, I don't understand it. I wrote it that way because it was something different to me. Sorry about the Dan confusion. With only 400 words I had to cut a lot out LOL. First Dan is dead husband. DJ, now Danny, is Dan Junior. Your sumerisation Chuck, is exactly that :). Due to story length, I had to cut out that he saw his fathers' death. Hence the no speaking for two years. This is another piece that takes parts of my own history. I am happy to say though, that my dad is still alive :) Good pic Dialyn, but that is a Red Heeler. A Blue Heeler has similar fur pattern but is a greyish blue :). But both are also known as Australian Cattle Dogs.

Sorry, Bella, if I was short. I'll try to explain what I think you were poking at. Most people wrote from a different perspective. In doing that, they needed lots of descriptions. When one writes a letter to a family, they usually dispense with the "glorious" adjectives. That was what I meant. That by using the "letter" version of writing, you avoided what most authors need to emply...colorful descriptions. By that, I mean when I write to my loved ones, I don't use colorful language. When I try to write a story, I DO try to use colorful language. Is that a better explanation?

Ahhhh yes it does :). Believe it or not I wanted to do descriptions but 400 word limit meant I had to cut them out LOL Thanks for taking the time to explain :)

I came up with this while out on my walk tonight. Thanks goodness for give or take as needed. 511 words. Doubt I could get it down to 400 no matter how hard I try. jon Lucy Jon M. Strother What's the sign say? the girl asked as my father drove in a staple. Says we found a dog. He punched in another. Her face brightened. I scowled. What kind of dog? A Rottweiler. Female. She began bouncing on the balls of her feet. I glared, trying to will her away. Did she have a collar? Yes. What color? Red. It's Lucy! It's just gotta be Lucy! My face was a stark contrast to hers. Well, my dad said driving in the final staple, we'll go get her. If she's yours, then we'll have a happy reunion. Where do you live? Over there. She started running for home shouting for joy as she went. My dad gathered me by the shoulder and guided me back to the car. I glared at him but managed to force back the tears. When dad informed mom that we had found the dog's home the look of relief on her face was like a stab in the heart. She had wanted to call the pound immediately, but dad had argued for the signs, a delaying tactic really, for he did not have it in his heart to do such a thing. And it would give me time to win mom over. But we never even finished putting them up! Dad got an old belt and looped it through her collar. I refused to stay home, certain that if I went along, somehow I could avert the coming calamity. We walked her home, about three blocks. It was the longest walk of my life. As soon as we got within sight of the girl's house Lucy started wagging her tail and pulling hard on the leash. Cries of Lucy's home! Lucy's home! broke from the porch as three children rushed to meet her. The father of the house came out and shook my dad's hand with vigor and looked at me with pity in his eye. But as I watched Lucy being drawn back into the home she had lost I knew in my heart we had done the right thing. Still, it hurt. I ate little that night and went to bed straight away. Later, dad came in and sat on the edge of my bed. I'm sorry son. But Lucy had a good home and she's best off back with them. I know. I mumbled. You forgive me? I don't know if he heard my reply. I did. I had come to terms. He bent over to brush the tears away. He was surprised to find my cheeks dry. Can we get a dog? I yearned. Maybe someday. He rose and headed for the door. You want the door open? No, closed. He left it open just a crack as he went out. About a year later I finally got my dog. Dad had worked hard on mom. Mom got her way when she insisted that it be a more appropriate breed. It was a Beagle. I named her Lucy, of course. Lucy was the best dog I've ever had.

Oh, that's such a nice story. I am aunt to two beagles Juliet and Suzette. I would love to share the story, with your permission, with their human. :)

As long as they don't plan on publishing it, no problem. ;-) It's based on something that happened just last year. A Rottweiler did follow me home when I was out walking my Beagle. We live near a very busy street so I could not just let her run, so I brought her inside the fence. We called all the appropriate agencies but could not locate the owner. My wife wanted me to take her to the pound and I just could not do it. So as a delaying tactic (to give me time to win her over) I suggested putting up signs. I found her home just about exactly as I described in the story, though I was not heart broken over it. It was very heart warming to see the joy in the family that got her back. I have been remiss in not commenting on others work. I am a little hesitant to do so since I am so new here, but feel I need to give as well as take. So here are a few thoughts. dialyn - I too had a little trouble with the kick between the legs. Perhaps just a quick dodge and run as the old man grabbed for him? Since he was an old man, he probably could have out run him. As far as Tank goes, I thought he was the neighborhood bully from the combination of "big feet" and the fact that he probably would have crushed the can, thus ruining his diversion. I was never confused that he might be his brother, but it also never occurred to me that he was a friend. nu-be - I thought surely he was going to destroy her kite in a fit of rage and was very pleased with the much less predictable and much more satisfying ending that you came up with. I do think that "so you ran with the kite" should have been "so he ran with the kite", but that's the only thing that jumped out at me. Nice story. And the phrase "Go fly a kite" made me laugh. It was so much a part of the jargon back then. I can almost hear my mom saying that now. :-) Side note to CE - wondering what made you get so specific with that particular topic of the three? I went back and re-read the original post and that one just strikes me as curious. Crescent - Yikes! What a chilling ending. Well done. ChuckEvans - I felt so proud of myself when I figured it out at - the arm pain was from that morning - part. Till then I thought he was off on some rendezvous with some friends (due to the contents of his backpack) but as soon as I saw that, I said Runaway! dialyn, that's the problem with runaways, they don't face very certain futures at all, and seldom have much of a plan (as witnessed by your own experience). It was a sad story and I too was left wondering what kind of life he would be walking into. So sad. Caledonin - A rather disturbing yarn, more so because it rings so true. Chilling and effective. BellaMorte - 399 words! That's amazing. Nice story. You could have tightened it up a bit more by cutting out the bit of description about the road. That might have given you space to tell us that he saw his father die. Also, I would change the word thrusted to thrust, I sort of stumbled there. Very nice use of technique going from the early part of the letter (to set the scene) and the part where she takes it up again (to tell the news). Quite effective, I thought. Hope I've offended no one. After all, who am I to be critiquing anyone else's work?

You have as much right to criticize ours as we do yours...this is, I hope, a learning experience for all of us and we are sharing our opinions to see how informed readers react to our stories. Thank you for sharing your insights.

Wow, jstro. I love your story. So much in it for so few words. An enjoyable read :) Thank you for your words jstro :). After cutting out over 100 words, I got lazy lol. No offence taken here :)