Promptly Dose It

A Week of MicroDoses

We writers all get it … the times when sometimes often mostly life gets in the way. If only I could spend more time on the words, we say, I’d get it finished.

There’s life, the voice in your head reminds you. All the stuff you have to do. What more do you want, use the 5 minutes while you grab a slice of toast, or the 20 minutes when you’re squeezed on the metro. Write maestro, the inner voice taunts.

But we all know, life is not like that.

Sometimes, life gets the casting vote and words are the last thing we have time for.

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This post is inspired by, and written for, my our friend

Miguel S.

When you build a community of writers, they all understand the ‘life versus words’ dilemma. So when ‘other stuff’ drags you away, there is no better crowd than your micro-fiction community for understanding the situation.

Miguel had to be away … so it got me thinking. What if I gifted him a week’s-worth of MicroFiction prompts and ideas - with some tales of my own to get the creative juices flowing - for those moments when life has other plans. A well to draw upon.

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1. Monday

   Diary (100mg)

   She shivered. The musky dampness of the boathouse felt as forbidden as ever. Maybe more so since their mother was no longer alive to countermand her inviolable instruction. ‘Never EVER disturb me in my studio’. They never had. Her fingers trembled as she unlocked the Edwardian desk, catching the tumbling sheaf of vellum papers.

   It was embossed ‘1989’, the year father left. The crimson ribbon was frayed where it marked the page that fell open. Her mother’s elegant cursive script blurred through unexpected tears. “Dear Diary, it is not nearly as hard to kill a man as you might imagine”.

2. Tuesday

   Ice (90mg)

   After the sheer bliss of yesterday’s ‘snow day’ there is no way I am going back to the office today. If one of those prissy middle managers wants to slide his shiny-assed pants across town to check the depth of the drifts, let them. Nope, I’m staying put, right here, in front of that roaring fire. Well, not right there, right now. Because right now, I’m just a lazy-ass idiot lying on a sidewalk where the ice dumped me, hoping I won’t be spending the day in an emergency room.

3. Wednesday

   Critic (50mg)

   His sneering criticism of her manuscript hurt but the slurping as he licked his chubby fingers before turning pages grated. He smudged words while savaging them, shaping his rejections into acerbic barbs. Every page carefully written in ink diluted with an odourless, slow-acting agent. She had penned his final chapter.

4. Thursday

   Tattoo (90mg)

   Deck planking creaked like polished leather as they closed in. Foul-breathed drunks who’d slit a man’s throat for a tot of rum. He saw madness in their eyes, morals loosened by the deprivations of weeks at sea. Rough men with basic needs who roared when the bosun bent him over the capstan, who murmured as the flannel shirt is ripped from his body. They clamour, desperate for their turn. They all want to believe the tales, to stare at the cabin boy with a treasure map tattooed on his back.

5. Friday

   Snip (90mg)

   There’s a reason I hadn’t cleared that part of the garden. But could I explain why? Throughout the Summer I avoided looking at it. Every day she asked, “well?” and I knew what she meant. One Tuesday, I took the secateurs, and made a start, cutting low down, ignoring the moans. Moans? It has to be the wind, I thought. Claustrophobia sneaked up on me, just before the first tendril, sharp brambles snagging my sock, climbing faster than I could cut. The wind stole my screams as Nature fought back.

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6. The Weekend

   Take your pick … any prompt, any wordcount (from 50 to 100)

   Bench

   Library

   Brunch

   Chicken

   Farm

   Writer

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Photo by Luca Bravo on Unsplash

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Happy writing, fellow micro fictioneers!