Tag Archives: 52 Story Project

Story 9/52: Note To Self —

Today’s story is more a character exploration than a full story, somewhere between a vignette and flash fiction. The seed came from a prompt on the excellent Reddit writing forum, Writing Prompts, though I have yet to read any of the other submissions to that prompt. (I will once this hits the streets.)

Coming up in the next week or two is my next foray into Southern Gothic. About a year ago I read a tweet on an agent’s wish list that said she’d love to see a YA Southern Gothic novel. It’s taken a long time for that spark to truly ignite, but my next few stories will be my way of fanning the flames. I always have considered William Faulkner and Eudora Welty to be two of my influences, so it wasn’t too difficult to encourage my Muse to focus her efforts in that direction for a little while. And my sword and sorcery novella, featuring, in the role of brawny manly-man Nordic ultra warrior hero, an overweight teenage black American girl who was taught to scrap and survive by a friend of the family, is about ready for public consumption as well. I’m somewhat excited about that one; that novella forced its way out of my head in just over four days, and now that I’ve cleaned the blood and brains off of it and made it somewhat sensible, I’m eager to go back to her world and write some more.

Story 9/ 52:  Note To Self —

Story 1/52

And here we have my first of fifty-two stories that will appear here over the next year. This story is as yet untitled, but since I only had two days, really, to work on it, I’m putting it out now, anyway. Please comment, criticize, share, reblog, and enjoy.

The doors slid open on the atrium of the Psych Ward. He didn’t necessarily mind the other floors of the hospital, but this one did smell a little less like a sterile mix of a medicine cabinet and a janitor’s closet than the other floors did. The guard here wasn’t half as loquacious or a third as friendly as Walt, but today he did nothing more to Tommy than make him sign in. He expected Mr Christopher to say something brutal about how late he was, since on any other day he liked to remind him that they used to do the same job, and still should be, as far as he was concerned. But he did nothing more than slap the log shut. By this time, Nurse MacKaye was waiting at the head of the hallway, though she didn’t stop looking at her watch until he was right in front of her.

Story 1/52