“I didn’t think you would choose to wake her so early,” the voice on the other end said.
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.
The other passenger’s name is Elena. She’s younger than me, by a decade, so I should be comforting her, taking charge. But then, there’s just two of us. So we’re more like partners in this thing. I’m using my journal to start documenting. She had the same thought, but she’s going to use her computer and phone. We checked the overhead bins, and no one else’s luggage is there. Just ours.
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?”
I didn’t panic right away when Violeta said she had succeeded in building a working time machine.
All of her inventions worked. All of them. But all her other inventions were a lot less…ambitious.
“You’re looking for a story.”
“That’s right. What’s your story? Where did you come from? How did you get inside that whale?”
And then he woke up.
He huffed out a breath and gasped. He was covered in sweat, even though the room was cool. His eyes were still shut, but he felt the wetness gathered at the rims of his eyelids. He squeezed and a tear rolled down from the corner of his eye and wet the outer rim of his ear.
Right away, he calmed. The intensity of whatever emotion he’d been feeling that brought him to tears just vanished.
“The drummer for Discordance was found guilty of Creativity in a case brought to court by the Music Harmony division of Sonic Substance Records.”
“Okay, okay, so the story goes, this king sent his daughter over the sea to a distant land to secure an alliance with a country that was formerly their enemy. And with her, he sent gifts and such.”
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know if these people did dowries. Anyway, the gifts included the usual stuff you’d expect, precious metals and precious stones, coins, and jewels. And the one big gift, the real gift, you might say. A crown made for the prince, and set with a very special one-of-a-kind jewel. A jewel that was sent by the heavens. A jewel that could shine without sunlight. But this king had angered the gods, so they ordered the sea fairies to destroy the ship and drown the king’s daughter—“
My mom opened the flaps of the cardboard box and started pulling stuff out as I hovered next to her. I didn’t trust her to remember that I needed the box.
“Our teacher gave us a weird assignment,” I said. “He wants us to make a diorama.”