Posted on April 3, 2008 by Barbara
100 Word Exercise
Think of a historical character and put him/her in a contemporary setting.
What would s/he think? How would s/he react?
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Posted on April 2, 2008 by Barbara
This is Tony’s Prompt:
Look up the etymology of any word you like. Write the story of that word. 100 words.
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Posted on March 18, 2008 by thilmes
Sorry this took so long to put up…i had some technical difficulties. But I can now edit the motherblog and all is well. Ok, so here goes.
Pick one article of clothing–your favorite shirt, shoe, earring, sock, tie…whatever. Write a 100 word short about your relationship with this piece of clothing.
A pair of green-and-red-striped socks. Warning: to be worn on Christmas Eve ONLY. These socks shall not be slid onto smelly feet on any other day during the year. Do not wash in washing machine, as their integrity, both physically and metaphysically, may be at risk. Hand wash cold in mild detergent, hang dry. Should holes begin to form, try to limit your mobility, as they should not be sewn or mended with foreign thread. If you find that your feet no longer fit in the socks, assume it is because they always fit that way, you merely forgot since last year.
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Posted on March 11, 2008 by sdennison
During my last months in Helena, the smoke from the distantly burning forest fires covered the streets and the mountains in a gray veil, obscuring the valley and the hills. On some days, it blurred even the trees across the street, and you could feel it grating on your throat each time you breathed in; on worse days, it covered the sky, the only color in the vast grayness the blood red of the polluted sun, reduced to an ichorous sore hanging dead in the air. Sometimes, though, the sunlight was beautiful, when it split into crimsons and scarlets as it drifted towards the horizon. I can remember seeing our living room once coated in red at dusk, the couch and the coffee table and the piano pulsing in the warm and sinister light.
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Posted on March 9, 2008 by minnowlefrak
“We want a pitcher not a belly-itcher!” Grubby fingers interlocked in the chain fence of the dugout. Half-empty yellow Gatorades on the concrete floor, Emily, on deck, balancing a bat on two fingers. “7’s up, it’s a up thing, 7’s up, she hits it every time…” Parents with newspapers and magazines in the stands, sweat on my teal uniform (not the pinstripes I’m hoping for, but close). “Hey hey whadaya say, hit the ball the other way!” Blood on our knees from sliding, Katie’s out on a fly. They wouldn’t let me play baseball, but they let me get pretty damn close.
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Posted on March 6, 2008 by matts9989
Hello everyone, here is an idea for a 100-word story:
Write about a violent thought or action that seems different now than it did at the time. Try to reimagine the passion that led to the violence in the first place.
I will post mine soon -
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