Good eeevening…

THE JOY OF STORY

John M. Daniel’s Blog

October 29, 2016

Good eeevening.

That’s what Alfred Hitchcock always said at the beginning of his television show, which aired from 1955 to 1965. It was enough to chill you to the edge of your seat. His brief introduction would be followed by a short drama presented and directed by the Master of Suspense himself.

This post appears on my blog only a few days before Halloween, 2016. It’s time to be frightened and entertained at the same time. So I humbly present a short story that I hope will give you a few shivers and/or chuckles.

In a word: BOO!

§

DESSERT

by John M. Daniel

We do this every year. It’s become a tradition in our family to get together on this special date and have a feast at midnight. When I say we’re a family, I don’t mean we’re related by blood. Well, actually we are related by blood, in a way, but it’s not a genetic thing. It’s a matter of life-style, you could say. We share a common faith, and we all have the same dietary restrictions that we must obey.

We used to call ourselves the Tiny Reindeer, when there were eight of us, but last year Vixen died of a stroke. Sun stroke. So we changed our names and now we call ourselves the Seven Dwarfs. I’m Doc.

This is the first year we’ve met at my house. I was nervous, as this was my first time to host the most important feast day in our calendar. But all has gone well so far. The Dwarfs all arrived on schedule, two nights ago, flying in from all over the country like six bats out of hell.

Last night we prepared the food for tonight’s dinner. Bashful and Sleepy went out into my garden and gathered weeds for the salad, while Grumpy cheerfully concocted her delicious dressing of vinegar, lemon juice, and Listerine, with a tablespoon of salt, a teaspoon of cayenne, and a dash of witch hazel. Dopey and Happy went out back and gathered acorns from under my old oak tree, which Sneezy boiled for three hours to brew tea. We were finished by dawn and were sleepy, as you can imagine. The main dish would arrive tonight, after dark. We had the oven pre-heating so we could serve the entrée piping hot at the stroke of midnight.

In the twilight hours, all the Dwarfs got dressed for dinner, after a good day’s sleep. I stepped out onto the front porch and lit the candle in the pumpkin. It was a fine night out: still warm from the sun, which had set; and the street was lit by a rising moon just two nights past full. I came back into the house, switched on the front porch light, and joined my six guests in the parlor. There we sat, waiting out the hours till dinnertime. We talked about what we had each been doing since we last met, and we talked some about politics and climate change, and then it occurred to Sneezy to mention that this night’s feast just wouldn’t be the same, now that Vixen was no longer with us.

“I can do without her,” Happy said. Happy and Vixen never did get along. Happy’s hard to please, if you know what I mean. He has a tendency to dislike even his best friends. And it’s true that Vixen could be a stubborn woman when her mind was made up. Still, I always say we should speak well of the dead, a line that gets a laugh whenever I use it among friends.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Bashful remarked. “I’ll miss her desserts. Vixen always brought yummy desserts to the table. Remember that chocolate earthworm pie she prepared for us last year?”

“Oh, dear,” I said. “I forgot all about dessert! What are going to do about our closing grace, our prayer of thanks for dinner and for longevity? We’re supposed to  say our thanks right after we’ve all finished dessert. ‘O Lord Below Us, we thank you with all our pumping hearts for every damned blessing you’ve given us, from our first bite to our last.’”

“It won’t be the same,” Sneezy repeated. “I’m a chocoholic.”

“Me too,” Sleepy said. “Damn.”

The doorbell rang. “Our dinner entrée,” I said. “I’ll get that.”

I stood up and walked to the front door and opened it wide.

“Trick or treat!”

There they stood, three of them: Spiderman, Harry Potter, and…and Snow White! How perfect was that? They all looked so well-fed and cheerful. They each carried a paper bag, which they held out and shook before me, as if to show me their haul so far.

“What do you have there?” I asked.

“Candy,” Spiderman answered.

“Candy bars, mostly,” Snow White added.

Harry Potter said, “Chocolate candy bars.”

“Come in, please!” I told them. “Treats are in the living room, and I want you to meet my family. They’re going to love your costumes.”

As the three children filed past me, I turned and locked the front door and switched off the porch light. Then I told the kids, “Follow me.” I led them into the parlor and said to my fellow Dwarfs, “Look! Our entrée has arrived. And guess what! They’ve brought dessert!”

So dinner was a great success, and when all the prayers were said, including the closing grace, Dopey stood, held his mug of acorn tea up, and said, “Hail Doc! A toast to the host with the most!”

They all cheered, and I confess I wept with gratitude. My heart was as full as my belly.

 

§§§

Call for submissions: Your 99-Word Stories

The deadline for November’s 99-word story submissions is November 1. The stories will appear on my blog post for November 12, and will stay posted for a week.

note: this 99-word story feature is a game, not a contest. Obey the rules and I’ll include your story. I may edit the story to make it stronger, and it’s understood that you will submit to my editing willingly. That’s an unwritten rule.

Rules for the 99-word story feature are as follows:

1. Your story must be 99 words long, exactly.

2. One story per writer, per month.

3. The story must be a story. That means it needs plot (something or somebody has to change), characters, and conflict.

4. The story must be inspired by the prompt I assign.

5. The deadline: the first of the month. Stories will appear on this blog the second Saturday of the month.

6. I will copy edit the story. The author of the story retains all rights.

7. Email me your story (in the body of your email, or as a Word attachment) to: jmd@danielpublishing.com

THIS MONTH’S PROMPT FOR NEXT MONTH’S 99-WORD STORY: Write a story inspired by the following sentence: I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.…

§§§

Calling all published authors—

I try to feature a guest author the third Saturday (and week following) of each month. If you’re interested in posting an essay on my blog—it’s also a chance to promote a published book—email me directly at jmd@danielpublishing.com.

§§§

Thank you for visiting. Please drop by next week.

http://www.danielpublishing.com/jmd/index.html

THOU SWELL, THOU WITTY, THOU SAD

THE JOY OF STORY

John M. Daniel’s Blog

October 22, 2016

Welcome, friends. This week’s post is a sad story, but it’s a story that needs to be told. At least I feel it should be told, and I humbly hope I’m up to the task of giving a proper tribute to Lorenz Hart, one of my favorite writers. I’ve been a fan of Hart’s since I first saw the movie “Words and Music,” when I was eight years old. Years later, when my first book was published, a murder mystery titled Play Melancholy Baby, I dedicated that book to Lorenz Hart. Years after that I learned that Hart died on my second birthday (which was one day before my father’s death). Hart was not technically a story writer, but some of his song lyrics have the necessary ingredients of story: character, plot, conflict. Consider “It Never Entered My Mind,” “Ten Cents a Dance,” or “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.” They’re stories, almost as poignant as the story of Larry Hart’s life and death.

The Death of Lorenz Hart

“Thou Swell, Thou Witty,” besides being the title of one of his most popular and successful songs, is probably how Lorenz Hart would have wanted his tombstone engraved. The description suited him well. Larry Hart, along with his partner, Dick Rodgers, was swell, all right. They were, for twenty-four years, one of the most popular and successful songwriting duos writing for the American musical comedy stage. They wrote the scores for 28 shows, as well as a half-dozen movies, and they came up with 500 swell songs. Larry was a swell guy off the stage, too: always laughing, always pouring the drinks and picking up the tab. He was always puffing on a swell cigar, always rubbing his hands together with fevered enthusiasm.

And oh my, was Larry witty. Oscar Hammerstein II called Lorenz Hart the cleverest lyricist to come along since William S. Gilbert. Who else but Hart would dare rhyme “holler I choose a” with “lollapalooza,” or “fratricide” with “mattress-side”?

Not many knew, though, that beneath the thin veneer of manic gaiety, talent, and charm festered a self-destructive, self-loathing, self-pitying loser. Others heard only “thou swell, thou witty.” Larry himself was haunted for life by another line he wrote: “Unrequited love’s a bore, and I’ve got it pretty bad.” He also wrote these telling words: “Sometimes I think I’ve found my hero, but it’s a queer romance.”

It wasn’t enough that Larry Hart was an alcoholic, in and out of hospitals for temporary drying out. He also had bad lungs, and was in and out of hospitals to recover temporarily from pneumonia in an era before antibiotics; no doubt those expensive stogies didn’t do him any good. It wasn’t entirely because Larry was homosexual, although he was ashamed of his homosexuality and was not the least bit out and gay about it, unlike other songwriters of his era, such as Ivor Norvello, Noël Coward, and Cole Porter. True, Larry repeatedly fell in puppy love with glamorous leading ladies of the musical stage, including Helen Ford, Nanette Guilford, and Vivienne Segal; but his love for them was a futile denial of his true sexual orientation. Besides, his crushes were doomed to failure because of Lorenz Hart’s most crippling curse.

Lorenz Hart was short. Very short. He stood barely five feet tall, and that was in two-inch elevator shoes. He had to buy his clothes in the children’s department of clothing stores. Unfortunately, Larry wasn’t cute short like Mickey Rooney (who played him in the biopic “Words and Music”). With a head too large for his body, he was more gnome than pixie. He was grotesque, or at least he thought he was. Who knows? Maybe his obsessive generosity was caused by a need to seem tall. Maybe his size issues made him feel inadequate with women and contributed to his homosexuality. Maybe alcohol was the only way he could forget about being an ugly midget.

According to Richard Rodgers, his collaborator, his best friend, his business manager, and his imperious boss, Lorenz Hart was difficult to work with. He was never on time, he skipped meetings, he skipped town, he disappeared whenever it was imperative that the duo write songs together. And when Larry was eventually persuaded or corralled into working, he wrote fast and refused to change a single word once it was down on paper. It’s a wonder those two geniuses were able to produce such fine songs, and it’s a miracle their partnership lasted as long as it did.

Richard Rodgers, from the time he and Lorenz Hart joined forces in 1919, when Rodgers was only eighteen, seven years younger than Hart, was in charge of the finances and made most of the business decisions. Rodgers was a hard-driven taskmaster. Later in his career he joked that people in the business called him “the big son of a bitch” when he was partnered with Lorenz Hart; after Hart died and Rodgers teamed up with the tall Oscar Hammerstein, they called him, Rodgers, “the little son of a bitch.”

As a rule, Rodgers chose which shows the team of Rodgers and Hart would write songs for; and as a rule Larry went along with Dick’s choices. Late in their partnership, however, they disagreed about a job Rodgers wanted to do, a musical comedy adaptation of Green Grow the Lilacs, a 1930 play by Lynn Riggs. The property was available, and the Theatre Guild offered the assignment to Rodgers and Hart. The play had a western cowboy theme, and Hart, who had always been a bon-vivant city slicker (the first big Rodgers and Hart song hit had been “Manhattan” and the team’s last big hit show was Pal Joey) refused to do it. Dick Rodgers, the big son of a bitch, was furious, and when he heard that Oscar Hammerstein was interested in taking the project on and was considering Jerome Kern as the tunesmith (Hammerstein and Kern had collaborated on the groundbreaking Show Boat in 1927) Richard barged in and persuaded Oscar to dump Kern and team up with Dick.

Oscar agreed, a decision that changed American musical theatre forever.

Dick told Larry the news, and that was it for Rodgers and Hart. They had one more production in the works, a revival of their own 1927 smash hit play, A Connecticut Yankee. The revival was to star Vivienne Segal, with whom Larry had been smitten since she starred in Pal Joey. Larry wrote a song for Vivienne to sing in the revival, the last song he ever wrote, “To Keep My Love Alive.” A Connecticut Yankee also featured Larry Hart’s theme song, “Thou Swell, Thou Witty.” This revival was scheduled to open November 17, 1943. It should have been a sentimental curtain call, a fond farewell to a writing team that had made popular music history. But by that time, everyone in show business knew Rodgers and Hart were finished as a team. Richard Rodgers had a new partner.

On March 31, 1943, eight months before the revival of A Connecticut Yankee opened in New York, the Broadway curtain rose on the debut of the new team, Rodgers and Hammerstein. Their musical version of Green Grow the Lilacs, now titled Oklahoma!, was an immediate success, destined to break attendance records and usher in a whole new era of musical plays, where the story line was intimately connected to the score. The golden age of American musical theatre began that night and lasted for twenty years.

Larry Hart was gracious about Oklahoma! He attended opening night, laughed and applauded loudly, and congratulated Dick and Oscar after the show. But the end of his own career had arrived, and he may have known that he would not recover emotionally or physically. His mother, Frieda Hart, died a week later. He had lived with his mother all his life, somehow hiding from her his homosexuality and downplaying his alcoholism. With her gone, Larry was desolate and dissolute. He was even more at the mercy of freeloaders, especially Milton “Doc” Bender, a dentist and would-be theatrical agent, who had been Larry’s pimp and Mephistopheles for years and who now took him on his last manic, sad ride.

On the rainy evening of November 17, the revival of A Connecticut Yankee opened on Broadway. It was Lorenz Hart’s last show. When he arrived with an entourage at the theatre, already drunk, he found that no tickets were waiting for him and his companions, who included Helen Ford. Larry waited in the foyer while Helen went backstage to find out from Dick Rodgers what was going on. Rodgers was furious that Hart had gotten into the building, because he had left clear instructions that Hart should be not allowed inside. Helen returned to the crowded foyer and found no Larry, although his overcoat was still hanging in the cloakroom. She learned from a doorman that Larry had gone into a bar across the street. Helen and the rest of Larry’s unwelcome cronies gave up and left the theatre and drifted away.

Larry, however, was determined to see his last show. After a few more drinks, he went back across the street and sneaked through a side entrance and past the usher into the back of the theatre, where he stood as the lights went dim, the orchestra played the overture, and the curtain finally rose.

He paced back and forth behind the last row and behaved himself, but when Vivienne Segal, in the role of Queen Morgan Le Fay, began to sing “To Keep My Love Alive,” the last song Larry ever wrote, he lost control and began singing along with the star, his voice getting louder and louder, until he was dragged out of the theatre by ushers and pushed through the front door, out into the cold rain, without his overcoat.

He somehow made it to the apartment of his younger brother, Teddy. Teddy and his wife, Dorothy, tried to keep him warm and comfortable, but he escaped into the night and took a cab to Delmonico’s, where he was living. Two days later, he checked himself into Doctors Hospital with critical pneumonia.

Lorenz Hart died November 22, 1943.

His lyrics live on.

Acknowledgments: This piece first appeared in Black Lamb. Most of the information in the article comes from Rodgers & Hart: Bewitched, Bothered and Bedeviled, by Samuel Marx and Jan Clayton; Thou Swell, Thou Witty: The Life and Lyrics of Lorenz Hart, by Dorothy Hart; and Musical Stages: An Autobiography, by Richard Rodgers. These three books, and particularly the first two, quote extensively from primary sources, mainly correspondence and articles written by people who knew Lorenz Hart. Sometimes their memories conflict, so I can’t vouch for the accuracy of every fact I’ve written here. The opinions are my own.

§§§

Call for submissions: Your 99-Word Stories

The deadline for November’s 99-word story submissions is November 1. The stories will appear on my blog post for November 12, and will stay posted for a week.

note: this 99-word story feature is a game, not a contest. Obey the rules and I’ll include your story. I may edit the story to make it stronger, and it’s understood that you will submit to my editing willingly. That’s an unwritten rule.

Rules for the 99-word story feature are as follows:

1. Your story must be 99 words long, exactly.

2. One story per writer, per month.

3. The story must be a story. That means it needs plot (something or somebody has to change), characters, and conflict.

4. The story must be inspired by the prompt I assign.

5. The deadline: the first of the month. Stories will appear on this blog the second Saturday of the month.

6. I will copy edit the story. The author of the story retains all rights.

7. Email me your story (in the body of your email, or as a Word attachment) to: jmd@danielpublishing.com

THIS MONTH’S PROMPT FOR NEXT MONTH’S 99-WORD STORY: Write a story inspired by the following sentence: I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.…

§§§

Calling all published authors—

I try to feature a guest author the third Saturday (and week following) of each month. If you’re interested in posting an essay on my blog—it’s also a chance to promote a published book—email me directly at jmd@danielpublishing.com.

§§§

Thank you for visiting. Please drop by next week.

 

http://www.danielpublishing.com/jmd/index.html

A FAULTY MEMORY CAN BE A CREATIVE GIFT

THE JOY OF STORY

John M. Daniel’s Blog

October 8, 2016

Welcome, friends and fellow story crafters. Do you rely on your memory to help you with the details of an incident in your past? Do these details matter, and must you get them right? Good luck with that.

A member of my writing group has a pair of twin cousins who shared a bedroom as little girls. Now grown women, they still think alike about many subjects, but one of them has a clear memory that the walls of their bedroom were blue, and the other twin is positive that those walls were green.

This week guest blogger J.R. Lindermuth, a fine mystery writer, expounds on this phenomenon of “creative memory,” and the role it plays in his newest novel.

§§§

Perception and Imagination—

There’s a difference.

Perception, the manner in which we experience events, is often expressed incorrectly as a result of the imagination.

Of course poets, Wordsworth for instance, knew that a long time ago. It was confirmed as recently as 2013 in an article in Psychology Today by scientific researchers in Sweden.

Law enforcement also has been aware of it for a long time. It's the reason police prefer to interview a witness to an event as soon as possible. As time passes, our imagination begins to question and reshape what we experienced.

It can happen to police, too.

It happens to Officer Flora Vastine in Shares The Darkness, seventh in my Sticks Hetrick mystery series. She allows memories from the past to influence her investigation of a murder.

Jan Kepler and Swatara Creek Police Officer Flora Vastine were neighbors and schoolmates, but never close.

When Jan, a school teacher, avid birder, and niece of a fellow officer, goes missing and is found dead in a nearby tract of woods, Flora finds herself thrust into the middle of an examination of the other woman's life, as she searches for clues.

As usual, the police have more than one crime to deal with. There’s illegal timbering and a series of vehicle thefts taking up their time. And there are other issues to deal with. Flora is concerned that there’s some shakiness in her relationship with Cpl. Harry Minnich, who seems to be making a lot of secretive phone calls.

Still Flora maintains focus on the murder. Despite evidence implicating other suspects, the odd behavior of another former classmate rouses Flora’s suspicion. Flora’s probing opens personal wounds as she observes the cost of obsessive love and tracks down the killer.

Some people will question your sanity when you say your characters speak to you. Sigh. Only another writer would understand. Flora had been nudging me to give her a chance at taking the lead in a Hetrick book. After all, the man is her mentor and he's taught her well. I decided to give her the opportunity, and I believe it worked out better than I expected.

A retired newspaper editor, J. R. Lindermuth has published fourteen novels and a non-fiction regional history. His short stories and articles have been published in a variety of magazines. He is a member of International Thriller Writers and is a past vice president of the Short Mystery Fiction Society.

For more information about John Lindermuth and his books:

Webpage: http://www.jrlindermuth.net

Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/author/jrlindermuth

Blog: http://jrlindermuth.blogspot.com/

FB: https://www.facebook.com/john.lindermuth

FB author page: https://www.facebook.com/John-Lindermuth-175253187537/?fref=ts

Twitter: https://twitter.com/jrlindermuth

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1005496.J_R_Lindermuth

In addition to Torrid http://torridbooks.com/ and Amazon, his books are also available from:

http://www.simonandschuster.com/search/books/_/N-/Ntt-lindermuth

Barnes & Noble, and from other fine bookstores.

§§§

Call for submissions: Your 99-Word Stories

The deadline for November’s 99-word story submissions is November 1. The stories will appear on my blog post for November 12, and will stay posted for a week.

note: this 99-word story feature is a game, not a contest. Obey the rules and I’ll include your story. I may edit the story to make it stronger, and it’s understood that you will submit to my editing willingly. That’s an unwritten rule.

Rules for the 99-word story feature are as follows:

1. Your story must be 99 words long, exactly.

2. One story per writer, per month.

3. The story must be a story. That means it needs plot (something or somebody has to change), characters, and conflict.

4. The story must be inspired by the prompt I assign.

5. The deadline: the first of the month. Stories will appear on this blog the second Saturday of the month.

6. I will copy edit the story. The author of the story retains all rights.

7. Email me your story (in the body of your email, or as a Word attachment) to: jmd@danielpublishing.com

THIS MONTH’S PROMPT FOR NEXT MONTH’S 99-WORD STORY: Write a story inspired by the following sentence: I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.…

§§§

Calling all published authors—

I try to feature a guest author the third Saturday (and week following) of each month. If you’re interested in posting an essay on my blog—it’s also a chance to promote a published book—email me directly at jmd@danielpublishing.com.

§§§

Thank you for visiting. Please drop by next week.

 http://www.danielpublishing.com/jmd/index.html

WHO IS THAT STRANGER?

THE JOY OF STORY

John M. Daniel’s Blog

October 8, 2016

Greetings story fans. Two people, A and B, have a relationship of some sort. A third person, C, appears on the scene. B has never seen this third person before. A claims not to know the third person, but B suspects that’s not true.

Characters.

Conflict.

Change!

Lights

Camera

Action!

Ready, set, go!

Here are a few 99-word stories that play with this familiar situation. They appear here for the first time anywhere.

§§§

“Who is that stranger?”

“What stranger?”

DISCO DRAMA

by Madelyn Lorber

The young woman had one slender arm draped across his shoulders. Her hips moved to the rhythm of the DJ. Her skimpy skirt exposed shapely legs.

 Hell, I’m gone ten damned minutes, stuck in a predictable ladies room line.

He noticed I was back, disengaged himself as if surrounded by that Little Shop of Horrors plant.

 The nymphet danced in front of him.

 Shoulders hiked in innocent defense he said, “I was just standing here minding my own business...”

 In hushed tones laced with acid I asked, “You trying to tell me you never even met this person before?”

•••

TRADING DOWN

by Tom Donovan

He watched as the stranger drove his year-old car down the street.

His wife appeared in the doorway; he told her the stranger was here to buy the car and was taking a test drive.

The stranger and his car never came back. The old clunker the stranger had driven up in sat at the curb looking suspiciously like a junker with fake plates.

Knowing what was coming, he closed his eyes, thinking of a warm beach somewhere.

Hands on her hips his wife said “Are you trying to tell me, that you never even met this person before?”

•••

TRYING

by Jim Gallagher

It was more of a challenge to my credibility than a question when he snarled, “Are you trying to tell me that you never even met this person before?”


“I’m not trying to tell you anything,” I snarled in response. “I told you very clearly that I’ve never had any contact of any kind with that person. 
If you’d been paying attention to my reply, instead keeping your nose stuck in that iPhone, you’d have known that. 
I submit to you sir, the only one in this room who is trying would be you. Yes, you. Very trying, indeed.”

•••

ON-LINE LEARNING

by Diane Morelli

I go on-line for local news. The best site is the supermarket express line.

The cashier said, “The late shift driver put the flowers and candles on her bench at the bus stop. He felt like dirt. She wouldn’t ride along on the route with him that cold night.”

The woman buying poinsettias sighed. “I thought my prayers were answered, she found a safe home.”

The man holding eggnog nodded. “No way. She wouldn’t go, leave her belongings behind.”

According to what I overheard, my neighbors cared about a woman they’d seen but never met before.

I did, too.

•••

THE REUNION

by Christine Viscuso

•••

“Are you trying to tell me that you never even met this person before?”

“Helen, I swear. I never saw her before the Smiths’ party.”

“The way she hugged you tells me different. Is there something you’re not telling me? She’s gorgeous, George. She has great legs; she’s maintained her figure. I’d die for hair like hers.”

“You’ve been my one and only for forty-five years.”

“I’ve invited her for drinks and hors d’oeuvres. I hear the bell now. Greet your girlfriend.”

 The woman fell into George’s arms. “George, Remember me? It’s your old friend Pat. I’m Patricia now!”

•••

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

by Rosetta Stone

“You’re going to marry some guy you never met?”

“We’ve met. Online.”

“But not in person?

“That’s right. He’s shy. Claims he’s ugly and old. He’s a virgin.”

“What does he have that I don’t?”

“Lung cancer. Six months left.”

“Yikes.”

“Plus seventeen million dollars in trust, which he’ll receive the day he marries.”

“But what will he do with seventeen million and only six months—?”

“He’ll have the time of his life, I’ll make sure of that.”

“And you get the seventeen mil when he dies. You sure?”

“It’s in our pre-nup. Our lawyers worked it out.”

§§§

Call for submissions: Your 99-Word Stories

The deadline for November’s 99-word story submissions is November 1. The stories will appear on my blog post for November 12, and will stay posted for a week.

note: this 99-word story feature is a game, not a contest. Obey the rules and I’ll include your story. I may edit the story to make it stronger, and it’s understood that you will submit to my editing willingly. That’s an unwritten rule.

Rules for the 99-word story feature are as follows:

1. Your story must be 99 words long, exactly.

2. One story per writer, per month.

3. The story must be a story. That means it needs plot (something or somebody has to change), characters, and conflict.

4. The story must be inspired by the prompt I assign.

5. The deadline: the first of the month. Stories will appear on this blog the second Saturday of the month.

6. I will copy edit the story. The author of the story retains all rights.

7. Email me your story (in the body of your email, or as a Word attachment) to: jmd@danielpublishing.com

THIS MONTH’S PROMPT FOR NEXT MONTH’S 99-WORD STORY: Write a story inspired by the following sentence: I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.…

§§§

Calling all published authors—

I try to feature a guest author the third Saturday (and week following) of each month. If you’re interested in posting an essay on my blog—it’s also a chance to promote a published book—email me directly at jmd@danielpublishing.com.

§§§

Thank you for visiting. Please drop by next week.

http://www.danielpublishing.com/jmd/index.html