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Drabbles Needed! Authors, have a go.
Michael wrote: "Dangerous indeed :-)"I note the ladies haven't commented ;-)
Having in the past been the proud owner of a girl aged seven, I have to say that being grown up does little to diminish the sense of blind panic.
probably none of them have been properly 7 yet ;-)
Very nice drabble, Jim. Gave me horrific chills at the memory!
Why am I thinking of Violet Elizabeth Bott?
It must be the way she thcreamth...
G J (Gaff to my friends) wrote: "Very nice drabble, Jim. Gave me horrific chills at the memory!"glad it wasn't just me :-)
Gingerlily - Mistress Lantern wrote: "Poor William."Always struck me that William was, in reality, an almost perfect gentleman :-)
Jim wrote: "Gingerlily - Mistress Lantern wrote: "Poor William."Always struck me that William was, in reality, an almost perfect gentleman :-)"
He was mostly seen as a mischevious and naughty boy, but I think he was seriously mistunderstood. Generally his motives were pure and his intentions good. His problem was a lack of awareness of the possible consequences of his actions. Well he was an 11 year old, so thats not exactly surprising.
I'd be interested in Patti's take on this. My late mother taught pretty well from the age of 19 onwards (with a few short gaps) and she appreciated 'mischievous and naughty' boys. To her they were perfectly natural and there was never any nastiness in them and they were easy to deal with
What makes a great poet? by Jim WebsterIt’s a good question. What does make a great poet? Some will tell you it’s a deeply poetic soul, whatever one of those is.
Others will tell you it is a mastery of language. I can see that, it’s probably tough being a poet with a vocabulary of only three or four hundred words. Mind you, if half of them are scatological you’ll probably be fashionable and the darling of the chattering classes. You can make serious money, but write appalling poetry.
For me what makes a great poet is a total disregard for the wretched whinging of your creditors.
Nice one Jim - I caught it on Facebook earlier.
I'm not surprised you noticed it, all my creditors were whinging at it ;-)(wretchedly)
Choosing a book to read by Jim WebsterThe books cascade past. Like bats in the dark, squeaking their brief electronic lives away, unseen and little lamented.
I reach out into the stream, holding a cupped hand and look at what I’ve caught. Bland and self defeating erotica, insipid romances, tedious tales of forbidden vampire love, I let them all slip between my fingers. But look, a little gem, a well written story to get my teeth into. I put it to one side, but in gathering that, how many have poured past me? Yet I know I will never live long enough to read those I save.
Oooh, sinister! That happens at the schools I work with more than you'd think (not the shooting part, obviously). But even some teachers take an instant dislike to a child just because of their brother/sister. It's not fair on the younger!
and Charlie's piece inspired me to write a drabble, but not this oneCharming? by Jim Webster
Yes, truly charming. They make eye contact; they’re sympathetic, witty and fun. They ask the right questions and listen to the answers. They listen more than they speak and are enthralled by my conversation.
It leads one to muse on one’s future and who will and who will not be included in it. Here there are hints of fun, of pleasure, of a deeper relationship, of a greater love, than I have ever known before.
They are genuinely attractive; they’re so pleasant, so decent, and so upright. And yet, I knew their three previous partners. Smiling sweetly, I move on.
That's a superb drabble, Jim. Reminiscent of a bowl of piranhas!
I LOVE that phase, 'a bowl of piranhas' :-)
Here's a new drabble (100 word story) from me:
Painting by William Sadler II - Pyms Gallery, Public Domain
The Charge
Hooves pounded the frost hardened ground, laboured breath steamed through the air. The array of red clad infantry fired and instantly wreathed in smoke. Bullets whistled passed my ears. A horse screamed and collapsed, its rider flung afar.
Another volley crashed against us, but we’re almost there. A cannon booms, dirt and smoke choked my mouth. I heard the enemy’s cries now and saw their dirt streaked faces. My mount’s hooves smashed into skull and with a slash of the sabre we broke through the first rank.
Only to see another line of red and another volley of rifle fire.
You can discover some of my other drabbles here:
http://thecultofme.blogspot.co.uk/p/1...
Trying to get the date, rifle fire or musketry, if the former it sounds Crimean :-)
It's loosely based on Waterloo, but more the image of the cavalry charge crossing the reverse slope and into the infantry squares.
That must have been a bad moment to be a cavalryman
And the drabble Charlie inadvertently inspiredDress for the occasion by Jim Webster
Don’t put on the body armour first. It’s cumbersome rather than heavy, but it means you cannot sit down. Mind you nobody sits down in the free fire zone. Body armour buckles down the right hand side, so you get a double thickness across the chest and abdomen, and of course it hangs down to protect the groin and thighs. But put your armoured trousers on first.
Finally put on the helmet. Drop the visor; check the head-up display, the throat mike, air filters, and the panic button to call for case-vac or support. Teaching year nine can be tough.
I often compare drabbles to jokes in their structure for that reason.
Jim's obviously taught in the valleys at some point!
More having a lot of friends (and family) who are or have been teachers.But yes, the knife should be twisted if not actually spun :-)
Professionally typecast by Jim WebsterCrusher realised that it was lunchtime. His battered face and garb meant he ought to find a suitably sordid dive and drink ale with his professional associates, assuaging his hunger with a slice of meat pie of dubious provenance and a dab of pickle. During the course of this repast custom demanded at least one fight, and perhaps a knifing if it were a good day.
Which was a bit of a beggar because all he really wanted was a nice glass of mint tea and a couple of delicately flavoured cakes; drizzled with lemon and frosted with sugar icing.
This is a little bit of description pulled out of the first Tallis Steelyard detective story :-)
My latest drabble featured on Book Hippo today:~~~ Today's Hundred Word Fiction ~~~
Crybaby
by Jonathan Hill
“Stupid, stupid, stupid baby!”
Stacey tried everything to stop the incessant crying. But nothing - NOTHING - would work and the noise just grew louder and louder.
“Shut the hell up. SHUT UP!”
Stacey screamed in its face and shook it, gently at first but soon more vigorously. And then she was holding it by the leg, dangling it, and hitting its head against the floor.
THWACK. THWACK. CRACK.
The next day, Stacey had tears running down her own face as the teacher shouted at her.
“These things are expensive! And you’re meant to treat them like you would a real baby!”
Charlie wrote: "Meat pies of dubious provenance puts you right there in the scene. It would also be a good album title for an indie band. ..."
All I need do is write the music then ;-)
Jonathan wrote: "“These things are expensive! And you’re meant to treat them like you would a real baby!”..."Actually I've always wondered about those things, and wondered how many of them do 'make it through the night' :-)
Okay - feelin' shy but having a go . . .Infidelity. Everyone suffers, not just the unfaithful swine dancing the horizontal mambo with the newbie in the office. I can’t stand this any longer. I kept quiet at first as I didn’t want to rock the boat, terrified that Jim would decide to leave me.
This half-life, the continual fear, couldn’t go on any longer. My future, and our daughter’s, was at stake. I waited for Jim, like the flytrap on the kitchen counter, watched him until he’d eaten his chicken fricassee and then I pounced.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I’ve been seeing someone. He’s the new marketing assistant at work.”
Great drabble, Kelly and welcome to a lifetime of addiction and torment. It won't be your last!!
Always good to meet a new drabblist!
Thanks for the welcome guys- I've been haunting the thread and been seriously impressed, especially as, when you have a go, you realise it's just not that easy. I have to say, it feels strangely addictive. Now I've got something else to obsess over!
Jim wrote: "And the drabble Charlie inadvertently inspiredDress for the occasion by Jim Webster
Don’t put on the body armour first. It’s cumbersome rather than heavy, but it means you cannot sit down. Mind y..."
We had our friend's kids, a five year old daughter and her little brother, who is two, round on Sunday. Wish I'd had that suit. Had to make do with a lie down once they'd gone.
Apparently the reason Grandmothers are just a shade above the ideal weight is that they fit the body armour internally ;-)
Jim wrote: "Apparently the reason Grandmothers are just a shade above the ideal weight is that they fit the body armour internally ;-)"Hell, yeah!
And I like to think it's not a mature gentleman's place to judge the ideal grand-matronly weight...
No gentleman wishing to live long enough to be considered mature would even dream of doing so...
From the Hippo today. I take no credit for the third paragraph, which was quoted from life.The Big D
“Can I help you?” chirped the girl behind the Morrison’s bakery counter.
“No, I’m just looking wistfully at the strawberry tarts,” Margaret replied. “But I can’t have that kind of thing anymore, because of my condition.”
“Oh, I know what you mean!” exclaimed the girl. “They’re very big, aren’t they? Four hundred calories. I couldn’t finish one of those after dinner. But you know what’s the worst? Cupcakes! They’re eight hundred calories – each! Very pretty to look at, but I had one once and felt sick afterwards. Never again.”
“I’m amazed they haven’t got you working in marketing,” said Margaret.
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Lost Innocence: The Accused (other topics)Azazel (other topics)
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Andrew K. Lawston (other topics)Andrew K. Lawston (other topics)
She was so knowing, so sophisticated, so worldly wise. Quite frankly I went in terror of her even as I loved her. She knew things that I wouldn’t have believed existed until she explained them to me.
I was constantly torn, feeling that I ought to have taken the lead, but somehow being drawn, hopelessly, helplessly along in her wake. In spite of everything I danced to her tune and just kept following, knowing that one day she would grow tired and abandon me for another.
When you’re only six, a girl aged seven is a very dangerous creature indeed.