Stories are driven by characters. You must have lots of characters. Add another. Add another. Add another. You need more characters. You’ll never have enough characters. Why can’t you come up with more characters?
The tea kettle whistled, and she shuffled over to her stove, paying no mind to the cat circling her ankles. They knew each other too well for either of them to get tripped up. She turned off the burner and waited until the water was not quite boiling and poured it into her waiting mug, letting the earl grey steep.
I pulled the throttle back as we approached the edge of the ship channel. The momentum of the boat slowed letting the bow tip forward, cutting lower into the gulf’s waters. My hair fell over my forehead now that the speed-borne wind had stopped holding it back.
They cuddled up under the blankets and talked about their weekend plans, dreams for the future, and briefly argued about the absolute best way to cook an egg. They laughed and snuggled, pressed against each other under a dozen blankets, perfectly content while the sun faded over the horizon and the stars came out.
Ice clogged his veins. His heart pumped fruitlessly in fear as wings swarmed his head; talons latching into his skin summoned blood to the surface. He swung his arms, desperate to stop the pain. His legs carried him away, hoping to escape.
Reported by Diane Weathersby
It’s that Helmetball time of year again and I’d be remiss if I didn’t scour the planet to find you all the Helmetball facts1 and fantasies2 that will enrich your viewing experience and help you ace your AP History exam.
They sat in Rosa’s room and drank together. Alistair excused themselves fairly quickly. Then Reginald, then Francine. Barcy and Abilene stuck around. Barcy had another bottle of wine for each of them, and by 10 o’clock they were all pretty tipsy. Barcy laid on the floor with her head in Rosa’s lap while Rosa stroked her hair. It was nice to not have to think about leaving. She could get used to this.
Loud and even bass notes punched Jesse’s bones, invigorating them rather than adding to their weariness. Just walking into the North Gate bar district allowed him to enjoy a new frame of mind. One that wasn’t focused on eating a dozen eggs or moving a feather across a room. Now Jesse got to participate in a youth tradition that stretched back centuries among various cultures.
I am a purple mushroom. I am also the world’s leading researcher on the effects of sleep deprivation in the modern world and it’s detrimental effects on society. These things are not mutually exclusive.
“Look, I don’t know what to tell you,” the genie sighed, “All those people got one wish from me. You know how your kind are. One guy says I granted one wish. The next guy decides he got two out of me. Suddenly, I’m supposed to be throwing out bundles of wishes like they are on sale.”