Comments on: Stories for Very Busy People

Stories for Very Busy People

Scattercat — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 00:48:05 -0800

Like short stories but just don't have the time to hang around for ten, five, two, or even one thousand words? Try some drabbles, stories precisely 100 words long. There was a bit of a craze in the early 90s, but some enterprising websites (including the successfully-published Brendan Adkin at Ommatidia) are still updating today (Previously). Write your own! (For the terminally lazy, automatically generate one instead.)

By: Scattercat

Scattercat — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 00:49:12 -0800

First post. Please don't hurt me. *hides*

By: orthogonality

orthogonality — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 01:03:24 -0800

tl; dr.

By: edgeways

edgeways — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 01:37:38 -0800

that auto generate one reminds me of an old Sci-Fi book by Fritz Leiber The Silver Eggheads, wherein authors where merely tenders of gian machines that produced novels after parameters where fed in... IIRC all the machines get smashed in the end.

By: no1hatchling

no1hatchling — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 03:57:52 -0800

Quickly Tripping Franz tripped along shamelessly. He was on his way to meet his lover, Cynthia, for Valentine's Day. He smiled to see a gerbil hopping along, carrying a ball in its mouth. Franz was almost in a boat when he came across a shimmering cake, lying alone on a glowing plate. "That must be a treat from my flaccid bear," he said to himself, and tripped over to it. The cake looked tenuous, so he ate it. It gave him the most glorious tingling sensation in his face. "How unusual!" he said and continued tripping to see Cynthia. When Cynthia came out to meet him, she took one look and fell over. "What is it?" Franz cried sensuously. "Your stomach! And your bosum!" Cynthia said. "They're dappled! Can't you feel it?" Franz felt his stomach and his bosum. They were indeed quite dappled. "Oh, no!" Franz said. "I'm a woman!" He, or rather, she started to cry. "It must have been that shimmering cake you left for me. Did you know what it would do?" "I didn't leave you any cake," Cynthia said. "I got you a shaft. It must have been that black man who lives nearby. He acts a little tentatively, ever since he licked a gym." "But how can you ever love me, now that I'm a woman?" Franz sobbed. "Well, I never knew how to tell you this," Cynthia said breathlessly, "but I actually prefer women. And I think your stomach is really wet like that." "Really?" Franz dried her tears. Franz kissed Cynthia and it was an entirely fast sensation, like a smooth wet rock that shines in the moonlight. They spent the night having entirely fast sex, until the cake wore off suddenly. Everything was rather awkward after that.

By: RussHy

RussHy — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 05:39:01 -0800

Nice, thanks for posting.

By: Bearded Dave

Bearded Dave — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 06:56:25 -0800

Interesting. I came across an anthology on flash fiction in a store a few months ago and completely forgot about it. Thanks for posting this and reminding me!

By: yellowbinder

yellowbinder — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 08:45:23 -0800

Obligatory holiday posting of Neil Gaiman's "Nicholas was": Nicholas was... older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories. Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves' invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time. He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher. Ho. Ho. Ho. (mp3 here.

By: dancestoblue

dancestoblue — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 09:33:17 -0800

www.100words.com has been up for at least seven years -- the idea being that you write 100 words every day. Not 97 words, not 102 words. 100 words. It can be anything -- your shopping list, the words one two three four etc to ninety-eight ninety-nine etc but it's got to be one hundred words. And you write your 100 words every day or you don't get your month posted online, a cool incentive, an inventive incentive. I use it -- when I do use it -- to attempt to encapsulate the largest piece of my day. Or pieces. In 100 words. It has taught me about editing, big time. And it has taught me about writing every day, the importance of that.

By: Scattercat

Scattercat — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 11:41:46 -0800

I've been doing a similar writing project myself, which is how I came to research and read about the history of the 100-words-precisely form. I wanted to put up some stuff about the alternate forms of microfiction, but the post started to get a little long and presumptuous. 369 is a weird one (three complete stories with a common thread, each one 69 words long), and I know Penny Arcade did a Ten-Word Story contest (which I entered and failed to win.) It's interesting to try to fit an entire story into such a small space. It really does teach you about economy of words; it's helped (and is helping) to wean me off of my beloved adverbs.

By: Xere

Xere — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 13:15:11 -0800

When I was in third grade, my entire class did this. Not because we were trying to challenge ourselves, or were trying to be creative. Because nobody wanted to ask exactly what the "100" on the blackboard meant. Did we have to write a story of at least 100 words, or more than 100 words? Don't ask, just write those 100 words. Ah, kids and the fear of the Rage of Grown-Ups.

By: mrgoldenbrown

mrgoldenbrown — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 18:06:38 -0800

The Drabblecast by Norm Sherman has some really weird scifi/fantasy/horror type drabbles mixed with other strange short fiction.