A to Z: Beginnings G

THEME: Short Stories - at least the beginnings thereof.
YOUR PART: Throw out words from the letter of the day and I'll pick some of them to include in the opening paragraphs of a short story.
WHY: I'm most inspired when there's a little challenge involved. Usually that means an opening line or a theme. This month: your words.

Each evening I'll post the beginnings of a short story using some of the suggested words, As to when I'll end those stories...well, that's what the rest of the year is for.

So join in the comments with G words. names, places, moods, genres, things, whatever you want to throw at me. My creative bucket awaits. If you're here later in the day and I've already posted the story start, feel free to leave words for the next day's letter.

Looking for more great blogs? Check out the massive A to Z blog challenge list.

~*~

It was generally accepted that gnomes didn't move. They didn't dance around the garden at night or prune the greenery. They didn't sniff the gardenias or plan out intricate plantings with complex geometry. But when the moon was just right, the clouds parted just so, and the pond still enough to reflect the soft glitter of the night, those exact things did happen.

And so it was on one perfect night that a young gnome saddled up a sleepy goose and galloped off to find the girl in the giant glorious garden he'd spotted from the tallest pear tree only ten minutes before. See, gnomes are a somewhat impulsive sort and this one may have given little thought to the fact that should the moon part from its just- rightness, and the clouds thicken, and the wind pick up to ripple the water, his evening plans might go sorely awry. 

A to Z: Beginnings F

THEME: Short Stories - at least the beginnings thereof.
YOUR PART: Throw out words from the letter of the day and I'll pick some of them to include in the opening paragraphs of a short story.
WHY: I'm most inspired when there's a little challenge involved. Usually that means an opening line or a theme. This month: your words.

Each evening I'll post the beginnings of a short story using some of the suggested words, As to when I'll end those stories...well, that's what the rest of the year is for.

So join in the comments with F words (no not that one) : names, places, moods, genres, things, whatever you want to throw at me. My creative bucket awaits. If you're here later in the day and I've already posted the story start, feel free to leave words for the next day's letter.

Looking for more great blogs? Check out the massive A to Z blog challenge list.

~*~

Ferdinand smoothed his whiskers and pondered the author photo on the dust jacket of the book he was reading. A plain mouse stared back at him, nothing on his face to suggest that he'd write such a fantastical tale. It had to be fantasy. Why else would he suggest that felines were in fact friendly? Unless the author's mind was fracturing. Maybe too much sharp cheese.

He put the book down, being sure to tuck it into the shelf and align the spine with the others in his collection. His friends often teased him for being too fastidious, but really, was there such as a thing? Ferdinand sniffed the air. His family would be here soon.

A to Z: Beginnings E

THEME: Short Stories - at least the beginnings thereof.
YOUR PART: Throw out words from the letter of the day and I'll pick some of them to include in the opening paragraphs of a short story.
WHY: I'm most inspired when there's a little challenge involved. Usually that means an opening line or a theme. This month: your words.

Each evening I'll post the beginnings of a short story using some of the suggested words, As to when I'll end those stories...well, that's what the rest of the year is for.

So join in the comments with E words. names, places, moods, genres, things, whatever you want to throw at me. My creative bucket awaits. If you're here later in the day and I've already posted the story start, feel free to leave words for the next day's letter.

Your bountiful suggestions on D-day led to a full story. I hope you enjoy it.

While you're waiting to see what I come up with for E, how about picking up a copy of the spring issue of Bards and Sages Quarterly, which features my short story, Late.

~*~

The dust made Eric's nose twitch. He adjusted his breathing filter and examined the exoskeleton he'd uncovered in the sand. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn the overall body shape appeared equestrian, but there was no record of those beasts having such a thing. All the photos they'd uncovered in the extensive dig showed them as furry beasts, not covered with heavy bone plating like what he saw here.

He brushed the ridges clean on the bones he'd been working on. Maybe he should tell Dr. Franklin. The eccentric old man might have some ideas of what he'd found here. Then again, if he figured it out himself, he'd be the envy of his classmates. An electric rush filled him as he imagined the accolades he'd receive from discovering a new creature on this ancient planet. No one had found anything new here in decades. That's why it had been cleared as a teaching dig.

So ecstatic that his hands shook, his lips drew into a giant grin around his air intake. His seal broken, he started to cough. He dropped the brush and sat down hard on the ground, sending a cloud of dust up into the air around him. Footsteps pounded the ground around him, coming closer from all directions.

A to Z: Beginnings D

THEME: Short Stories - at least the beginnings thereof.
YOUR PART: Throw out words from the letter of the day and I'll pick some of them to include in the opening paragraphs of a short story.
WHY: I'm most inspired when there's a little challenge involved. Usually that means an opening line or a theme. This month: your words.

Each evening I'll post the beginnings of a short story using some of the suggested words, As to when I'll end those stories...well, that's what the rest of the year is for.

So join in the comments with D words. names, places, moods, genres, things, whatever you want to throw at me. My creative bucket awaits. If you're here later in the day and I've already posted the story start, feel free to leave words for the next day's letter.

Thank to you to all of you who have stopped by so far this month. I've enjoyed playing with your words.

Looking for more great blogs? Check out the massive A to Z blog challenge list.

Don't stop writing! Is there anything that would make you or has made you? Check out our assortment of answers to this question on this week's Authors Answer and join in the comments over there too.

~*~

WATER

The drip in the kitchen sink was getting worse, constant, rhythmic, setting David's nerves on edge. He put down the sock he'd been darning and glared into to the darkness that was the hallway leading to the kitchen. No one was going to come fix his problem. He didn't have the money to pay a real repairman.

Drip. He counted to ten, breathing in and out through his nose, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension building there. Maybe if he put a towel in the sink the noise wouldn't echo through the house quite so much. 

Drip. He set the ball of yarn next to the sock and got to his shaking legs. His walker stood at the ready.  Making his way slowly to the hallway, he passed the photo of his darling wife, gone six years now. He put a hand to his lips and then pressed it to the glass.  Drip.

Sophia would be upset over his lack of dedication in keeping up the house once she'd departed. But the things about him didn't seem to matter as much anymore now that she wasn't there with him. The walls were still standing and the roof didn't leak. Drip.

The demons that ran the city could sell the house when he was done with it no matter what shape it was in. They'd probably just tear it down and put up a corner convenience store anyway.  They kept sending him notices about the state of his yard. He kept discarding them. They'd turn his yard into a parking lot. They'd been doing  it all up and  down the street. Every time he looked out the window the neighborhood he remembered was diminished. It was like a bad dream.

Drip. The wheel of his walker stuck on the transition bar between the carpet of the hallway and the tile of the kitchen. He shoved it forward like he always did, lifting slightly, shifting his weight. The wheel didn't give. Drip.

David feel forward with the walker, lurching over the side of it, his arm dangling at an awkward angle. Pain shot through his side and his mouth went dry.  Drip.

His heart began to race. His head throbbed. He called out, but there was no one there to answer, no one to help him. Darkness crept in around the edges of his vision.

Drip.    

If only he could get a drink of water. He tried reach for the sink, but his arms refused to obey.

He gasped for a breath, wishing for just one last drop to ease the tightness in his throat and chest. David went still.

Drip.

A to Z: Beginnings C

THEME: Short Stories - at least the beginnings thereof.
YOUR PART: Throw out words from the letter of the day and I'll pick some of them to include in the opening paragraphs of a short story.
WHY: I'm most inspired when there's a little challenge involved. Usually that means an opening line or a theme. This month: your words.

Each day I'll post the beginnings of a short story using some of the suggested words, As to when I'll end those stories...well, that's what the rest of the year is for.

So join in the comments with C words. names, places, moods, genres, things, whatever you want to throw at me. My creative bucket awaits.

And while we're on C... If you enjoy dark contemporary speculative fiction, pick up a copy of Acidic Fiction: Corrosive Chronicles, which features my short story, Healer.

Looking for more great blogs? Check out the massive A to Z blog challenge list.

~*~

Clara stepped out of the campervan and peered at the clouds, hoping the rain they promised would hold off until she returned from her walk. She'd waited three years to see the caterpillars, saving every last penny to gather the bribe she needed to get into the restricted zone. Now she was finally here and they were just over the next ridge, protected from the residential zone where visitors like herself and the vast array of researchers and security people lived.

Two others ventured out with her, leaving their shelters behind to assuage their curiosity. Careful not to step off the dirt path, Clara made her way closer to the ridge.

The dirt turned from a fine grit to a powder, blowing in the warm breeze. The caterpillars had fully processed the soil in their search for the required nutrients to complete their metamorphosis. Clara reached the edge and got down on her stomach, peering down at the once in a lifetime view below.