Storyfeather Year 7

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This week’s story will be posted soon. This is the anniversary post for Storyfeather’s seventh year!

The Year of Prompts is done! That was the theme for Storyfeather Year Seven.  Take a writing prompt and write a short story from it.      

Thank you to everyone who read even a single story. Thank to you everyone who liked or commented. Thank you for your time and interest, and for being a part of Storyfeather, especially Year Seven.

A lot happens in the seventh year stories.  An inventor builds a time machine out of a jukebox.  Three friends do their science project on a forgotten novelty invention, a self-peeling banana. A small team of marine explorers search for a mythical jewel that fell from the heavens. A family is haunted by a demon that is not satisfied with collecting the fallen teeth of their children. And a young drummer commits the crime of “creativity without a license.”

I’ve written over 350 stories now. And I posted my 150th podcast episode (I’ll soon be wrapping up Season Three, in which I’m narrating stories from Storyfeather Year Three).  Year Seven was a worthy challenge, but I’m glad to be moving on.  Sometimes I “cheated” and deviated by just writing a story based on a dream or a notion (and reverse-engineering some kind of prompt from that).  It’s easy to find writing prompts.  There are free apps and sites.  But what I found challenging was to find a prompt with the proper level of specificity.

Storytelling is still my true love, still my destiny, still my path.  And this year in particular, storytelling has been and still is my haven.  And my hope.

Year Eight is on the horizon.  Here’s to seeing what stories I’ll be spinning up (that’s a dorky clue to the theme).  I hope you’ll come along.

I have stories to tell you.
Nila

The Hippocampus and the Menagerie

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At the center of my memory is the image of a horse, a horse the color of orange cream, rearing up, and glancing at me, with an oceanic glint in her eye.  She has wings.  She has fins.  She is fast.  I remember.  She was fast.  Slicing through the water like a ray of sunlight.

So I don’t know how it could have happened.  But I have to do something.

I must free the hippocampus. Continue reading

Madeleine Miriam’s Pizzapothecarium

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“A rosemary and parmesan crust, with a sprinkle of saffron,” she said.  “Brush some garlic sparkle butter around the edge, and use Marinara Number Nine.  Typical toppings for this order.  There should be a whiff of rotting rose petals when it first comes out of the oven, but that will dissipate in two seconds, so you’ll have to pay attention, and then it’ll taste just like you’d expect it to.” Continue reading

Seven Signs of Impossible Times

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When pigs fly

“Obviously, it’s a hoax,” Rita said, switching out the microphone cover for that furry one that she used when they went somewhere windy.  “But can you imagine if it were real?  I mean what would it mean?”

Quentin sighed.  “It would mean that Nature herself is against my ever getting a real shot at doing real journalism.”

“So, pigs can fly and somehow that’s all about you, huh?” Continue reading

The Children of the Rain and the Sun

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When they were young, the seven children of the Rain and the Sun were inseparable.  They were magnificent, these children.  When they were born, so too were colors born into the world.  And the colors bore the names of the seven children.  Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Violet.

What each child touched became that color.  The red petals of a rose, the orange cheeks of a young fairy, the green spires of a pine, the indigo eye of a peacock’s feather.  They would join hands and skip through the world, coloring as they went. Continue reading