Haiku to you Thursday: “Table”

The best linen rests /

surrounded by plates and pie. /

Scraps become compost.

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Writing tip Wednesday: “Short, short story contest”


We’ll keep this short.

Enter the Writer’s Digest Short Short Story Competition for a chance at $3,000 and a trip to the 2016 Writer’s Digest Conference, PLUS national exposure for your story! Click here to see the full prize list.

Here’s the bottom line.

Keep your story under 1,500 words to qualify, and be sure to get your work to us by December 14.

One First Place Winner will receive:

  • $3,000 in cash
  • Their short story title published in Writer’s Digest magazine’s July/August 2016 issue
  • A paid trip to the ever-popular Writer’s Digest Conference!
  • A copy of the 16th Annual Writer’s Digest Short Short Story Competition Collection
  • A copy of the 2016 Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market
  • A copy of the 2016 Guide to Literary Agents.

Other prizes and how to enter: http://www.writersdigest.com/writers-digest-competitions/short-short-story-competition?utm_source=competition&utm_campaign=wd-tjo-comp-161125&utm_content=801449_WC151125&utm_medium=email

Deadline: December 14, 2015

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At least during this National Novel Writing Month, Willard remembered to thaw the bird before trying to bake it.

At least during this National Novel Writing Month, Willard remembered to thaw the bird before trying to bake it.

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Filed under 2015, cartoon by author, CarToonsday

Monday morning writing joke: “Down for the count”

There once was a writer from down under

Whose editor rent all his things asunder.

Passive verbs and weak nouns

Were found all over the ground

And woe be to each adverbial blunder.


A man woke up in a hospital after a serious accident. He shouted, “Doctor, doctor, I can’t feel my legs!”

The doctor replied, “I know you can’t; I’ve cut off your arms!”

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The blathering idiot and Saturdays

The blathering idiot and Lydia, his campaign manager for the Pro-Accordion Party, were driving down the road from one stump speech stop to another in his quest for the highest office in the land. It was hard to keep up with the other candidates. He had crossed paths with one of them recently and happened to catch part of what he was saying. What surprised the blathering idiot even more than the other candidates way of speech delivery was the sign on the front of his lectern. Apparently the silent majority stood with this candidate. From the way the candidate was speaking, attacking everyone and everything that wasn’t American and white, he could understand why the “majority” was silent: It couldn’t get in a word edgewise.

The blathering idiot had always wanted to adopt Saturdays.

The blathering idiot had always wanted to adopt Saturdays.

But what intrigued the blathering idiot was a sign he saw outside a business. One time when he passed, it read: “Adopt Nov. 21.” Another time, it read “Adopt Saturday.” He wondered how you could adopt a day in November or even a day of the week. If so, there was a day he wanted to adopt. So, on the way driving through town because there was not enough money in the campaign war chest to fly to the different places or even travel too far, he pulled into the parking lot, then stepped inside the store. He walked up to the counter and asked, “How do I adopt a day?”

The older woman behind the counter looked up and said, “Is this a joke?”

“I’ve always wanted to adopt Saturdays. All of them, if I could. Ever since I was a kid, it was my favorite day of the week. Wake up late, eat two bowls of my favorite cereal, watch cartoons until my eyes were about to pop, then eat popcorn for lunch, and ride bikes with my friends, pedaling so hard we wanted to throw up. I want to adopt Saturdays.”

“Who don’t adopt Saturdays here,” the woman said.

“But your sign says—”

“That sign is for dogs.”

“You mean dogs can adopt Saturdays, but I can’t?” If so, it really was a dog’s life.

“No. The sign is about adopting dogs.”

“You mean if I adopt a dog, the dog can adopt Saturdays?”

“Get out. Now!”

The blathering idiot hustled out the door and back to the campaign car and climbed inside.

“Are you okay?” Lydia asked.

The blathering idiot sighed. “I wish I was eleven and it was Saturday. Saturdays when you are eleven are the best Saturdays there are.”

He wondered if the silent majority felt that way, too.

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Photo finish Friday: “Traveling”

ONK_ParkPathCircle 100dpi_15x11_4c_F5487 copy

Is this the path behind or the one ahead?
The path well known or the one less said?
Will you travel light or carry a heavy load?
Coming back with stories or learning ones untold?
Will you find true love along your path
Or will Dame fortune scheme to steal your stash?
Will your joys be many and your sorrows few?
Will you have many friends or just one or two?
Wherever you go, know that there you will be
with all the world around you and new things to see.
I wish you well as you create your pathway.
It’s built with your life, but renewed each day.
I won’t always be with you, but come what may
Maybe in your heart a small part of me will stay.

–by David E. Booker

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Haiku to you Thursday: “Trees”

Trees undress for Fall. /

Dance naked to Winter’s wind. /

Entice Spring’s young eyes.

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