(Looking & Mission, Jan 20-21)
Hunched just behind the shrub-encircled tree, he squeezes his eyes shut. He’s grown to love the sunny-morning scent that precedes the screech and bang of the screen door, the soft pad of bare feet on cold, painted cement, followed by the softer hush of those feet crossing the grass. The wooden chair groans as she lowers herself onto its cool slant and tucks her legs out of the dew. Continue reading
He’d first caught the scent’s fragrant tang on an early morning breeze, on the first days after the snows had well and truly departed, and Summer lay tripping and sliding just beyond his range of perception. Continue reading
So, this month I’m doing a challenge to write a micro a day, for Just-Jot-It-January. Thanks to Linda G. Hill, bloggers in the “Play Group” have proposed a one-word prompt for each day. We share our responses back to Linda’s page, and are able to read what others come up with. Most days, I post my responses every few days in bundles, but today’s single prompt – UNICORN — reminded me of a fun piece I wrote in late 2020, in the Before Times. And if this prompt tickles your imagination, please click the connecting link on the bottom of the post to read others’ responses!
During late 2020, the Rough Writers of Carrot Ranch were challenged to write a 99-word flash that combined Romance and Western; I guess in that sense, the task might classify as Speculative Fiction, with my addition of a magical unicorn. In order to get to the final flash, we all had to cycle through a series of steps/products that varied in number of words, point of view, tagline, and weird trope prop. That’s the technical, but read on for what turned out to be a revelation for me, and hopefully, entertaining for you: Romance of the Rails.
© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2022)
To see others’ Jan 9 responses click the following:
Source: Matt Fraser
I meant well, sending her off on an impossible quest for the Silverword Cascade, hoping she’d find distraction and joy during the painful waiting time until her childhood friends return to her; No Baba Yaga am I — my magic is limited to perception only of magic’s heady limerance, and I hadn’t felt her subtle glow. Continue reading
Solveig had gathered nearly everything Old Baba had asked her to bring for their midnight meeting on the strand and underneath the clear-night crescent of the new moon; the girl had yet to find the final potion ingredient, water scooped in a wooden cup, from the Silverword Cascade, a waterfall rumored to be located in the third chamber of one of the many caves on the far side of Hidden Cove. Continue reading