I work all hours, unlike my boss, Vinny. I have to, what with the club always open. Take the morninâ crowd, for instance. Some just want their coffee and a little entertainment. So, we provide the best that money canât buy.
I prefer the morninâs because itâs when Lola comes in to ask if thereâs any news. See, her beau gambled away their life savings, even borrowed some from the house, thatâs when his luck ran out. Five years later and sheâs still lookinâ for him here.
Vinny stopped lookinâ years ago. I just havenât the heart to tell her.
When we left the movie show the future wasn’t bright But pain is gone, the show goes on And I don’t wanna say goodnight
âVinny here?â The bar teemed with customers. Some new. Some old. All with a past and a story. The bartender nodded towards the other end of the main floor. Our unlucky man, Mr. James Horner, owes Vinny, my boss, some money. And when you owe Vinny money, you want to make sure you pay him, or else.
Horner ordered his usual drink and knocked it back before squaring his shoulders and weaving through the throng of tables. I could tell by his gait that his pockets were empty.Â
Me? I much rather listen to the lovely lady singing on stage.
We’re headin’ ‘cross the river Wash your sins away in the tide It’s all so peaceful on the other side
According to Harry, the owner of the Salty Shack in the sleazy side of town, my wifeâs been meeting her lover here multiple times a week. âAnother late night at the office, dear.â Her cold texts. What a fool Iâve been!
We have an arrangement, Harry and I. Whenever they arrive he calls me and I watch them from across the street. Ten times heâs called and ten time Iâve done nothing about it. But tonight will be different.Â
Tonight Iâm going to join them and let them squirm as I eat their pie with a grin on my face.
We meet every day at the same cafĂŠ Six-thirty and no one knows she’ll be there Holding hands, making all kinds of plans While the jukebox plays our favorite songs
Fridays shouldnât be stressful but the kick-off to a great weekend! Because structure is important, writing your own 100 Word Story is back on Free Writing Fridays!
Whether itâs the start of an adventure with a cliffhanger or a poem needing to be told, you can still just write whatever you desire.
GUIDE
Most Important: Word length is exactly 100 words. I recommend using Google Docs as a scratch pad and go to Tools â Word Count and check the âDisplay word count while typingâ
Genre? Totally up to you. Share a mystery. Give us thrills, chills, and suspense. Or make us shed a tear.
Fiction or non-fiction applies here. This is your blank canvas.
Copy/paste your story in the comments section for others to read. If you post it in your own Substack (highly recommended and encouraged) just share the link in the comments.
A Note on Notes | If you use Substack Notes, click the đ âRestack with a Noteâ and copy/paste your story as a Note.
âGentlemen, if I can draw your attention to the stage. The show youâve all been waiting for is about to begin.â
Heavy purple curtains part down the middle and a spotlight comes on from above to illuminate Lady Liv for her one and only performance of the night. She smiles and the men are captivated. Frozen in time and space as she sings just for them.
Suddenly, black hooded figures work their way through the tables, unnoticed, lifting wallets and jewelry. Leaving empty pockets and souls in their wake.
Lady Liv stops singing. The spot light goes out. Curtains close.
She gets too hungry, for dinner at eight She likes the theater and never comes late She never bothers, with people she’d hate That’s why the lady is a tramp
Maybe it was the lack of a case that made me vulnerable to whoever entered my office. Or maybe it was the way her red lipstick matched her auburn hair peeking through her black head scarf.Â
She didnât say much. Women like her never do. They let their eyes do the talking. And her eyes told me she was in trouble. I didnât think I was the man for her till she kissed me into submission.
I didnât catch her name, just that her life was in danger and I had to kill him.
It was a damn good kissâŚ
Tales of an endless heart Cursed is the fool who’s willing Can’t change the way we are One kiss away from killing
building a case for my short story collection (and yours)
It was early May 2023 when a tweet was, for lack of a better word, heard round the world and it was written by someone who has a name that will likely go down in history. I wasnât there, as I stopped using Twitter a month earlier, but you donât have to have been there to have heard the name.
As of writing this, it has been âviewedâ 18.4M times! đ
You just canât make this stuff up! Now, Mr. dickolas (if I may call them that?) doesnât have many followers on Twitter and Iâm sure this tweet can be used as an example of how going viral can be advantageous. But what makes this story so interesting to me is that the authors of This is How You Lose the Time War had no idea what was going on when they saw their book climb the charts to #3 on Amazon and #9 on the NYT Bestsellerâs list. Pretty impressive!
In the aftermath I had a few take-aways from this phenomenon that I think are worth keeping in mind:
This book was published back in 2020, a good THREE YEARS before this tweet!
At that time it was nominated and won the Hugo as well as the Nebulla and Locus awards for Best Novella. If you hang out in short story circles then you know those are pretty awards and itâs an honor to just be nominated.
Anything is possible if you put in the work.
What exactly am I trying to get at, you may be asking yourself. Okay, so if youâre new around here, Iâve been writing one 100 word story every single day since May 1st (right around the time this viral tweet happened). Why? The mood struck me and Iâm not one to back down from a challenge, even if itâs one I give to myself. And as Iâm nearing 100 of these stories written (quite a milestone for any person) I am growing increasingly intrigued at the possibilities of putting these stories into some sort of book form.
THE KERNEL OF AN IDEA
Self-publishing books is not new to me. It started way back in college when I wanted to see my poetry in book form so I went to Lulu.com and made it happen in a few easy steps. Then I got older and wanted to try my hand at selling copies of my work so I wrote an illustrated book with a close friend who did all the artwork. Then I had a wild idea for a fantasy series. Basically, this all boils down to the fact that I know all the ins and outs of ISBNs, Amazon KDP, Adobe InDesign, and whatever else is needed to get the book from written to published.
Iâve had several iterations and ideas ruminating in my brain about how I would want to create my first (of many?) collections. How many would go in the book is a discussion for another day but I have already set my sights on the Austin Kleon books and want mine to be a square. Thatâs a given. Then thereâs the inside and that kernel of an idea is still in its infancy but Iâm leaning towards handwriting every story. Would take a lot because Iâm already overly critical of my handwriting but every âhandwriting font styleâ Iâve tried just isnât quite right. And like my momma always said, âsometimes you just gotta do it yourself!â
CAN GOOD BONES MAKE A GOOD BOOK?
Just because Iâve been working on âthe bookâ for years (it seems) doesnât mean itâll be what the people are clamoring for. Thatâs where we all come in. Good bones, I believe, are built by the hands (or mouths?) of others. Word of mouth, in the case of collections of short stories can do well as long as two statements can be made true:
Consistently good stories shared.
Trusted word of mouth from us to or followers.
Iâm hoping to build good bones with my collection coming at the end of 2023 and beginning of the new year. Iâd like to think I can do it all with my own two hands but I canât. It will take a village to help this get off the ground. But Iâm not asking just for myself. Iâm asking on behalf of all of us out there in the fiction writing community who are toiling away on sharing short stories but are unsure if it can ever be anything more than an email in an inbox. It can! Letâs do it together. Letâs build good bones!
I want to get the word out about your work, especially if your intention is to put it in book form to sell. The act of writing can be a very solitary one. We hide away in our writing places wherever we can find the time, but then we can also come together and when the time is right, build those good bones.
I am sure when El-Mohtar and Gladstone wrote their little book they were immensely honored to be nominated for such prestigious awards and then doubly so when they won. But to expect three years later for a random tweet by the randomest of Twitter users to cause such a viral stir on the algorithm that it raised their books from the depths of where it was, to above some newer released books. No one couldâve predicted that. Itâs the power of messaging, community, and most of all word of mouth.
Am I expecting Substack to lift us up to the heights of 18.4M views in two months? No. But letâs see what we can accomplish if we put our heads together.
PLANT A FLAG! MAKE A STATEMENT!
Thereâs nothing like the power of community supporting your passion and dream! But we canât support what we donât know. Mentioning it on social media is great but you know whatâs even better? Cementing it in an email right on your own Substack (or blog). I know, that kind of commitment can be hard to do. What if you donât follow through and finish what you started? Iâve been there. But we canât finish what we donât start and thatâs just facts.
Ever heard the phrase âno risk, no rewardâ? Well, thatâs what you need to do. Or as I like to say, ârisk it for the biscuit!â
So, letâs plant a flag together! Cause I would never ask you to do something I wasnât more than willing to do myself. Letâs write an email/blog outlining our collection endeavor. Share what you want to do, how you plan on doing it, and most importantly, how often youâre going to let us know how itâs going? All really important questions. But notice the one question I didnât include? When it will be finished and released. That is an answer you donât need to have right now. Donât worry about finishing. Focus on starting and getting those stories in order.
Life will always get in the way and before you know it the time you thought you had wonât be there anymore one month from now. Lean on the community for support during those time. Let us tell you itâs all good and remind yourself of the great work youâve already done to get to wherever you are now. We can do this!
Look for my âannouncementâ email some time in October!
THE BEST TIME TO START PLANNING THAT COLLECTION?
You know my answer is going to be âNOW!â Who knows what could happen three years after itâs been released. You could be seeing an unexpected surge too. Thatâs not to get anyoneâs hopes up. Least of all, my own. But I do like to dream big.
Whatâs the use in dreaming small, why bother having dreams at all?
My âdream bigâ idea isnât to sell 1M copies. I want to know my work kept someone up at night or made them pick up a pen and start writing something. I want to teach and influence through my own journey in storytelling. And with any luck be able to do this for the rest of my life.
How am I making this dream a reality? Well, it starts with one day at a time thinking. If I think of the finished product I easily get overwhelmed. I donât think about hitting one-hundred stories written in 100 days. Instead, I think about the one story I have to write today. Small goals and accomplishments will eventually lead to a collection.
Time to sound off on our dreams! I want to hear from you! What are you fiction writing dreams? Go beyond what youâre currently doing. Dream big. And not just âI wanna be Stephen King rich.â Thatâs kid stuff and boring.
It was a simple barbecue. A welcome back party for the newlyweds. He was all smiles. She was positively radiant.
We all came together, to celebrate, again. We drank sub-par wine, though I noticed the bride only drank water, and reminisced. No one mentioned the possible fog forecast. It wouldâve been in poor taste to mention the creepers. And upon reflection Iâm thankful for two things:
One, that my bladder could never hold liquor for long. And two, that the creepers devoured the party while I was peeing. It got me out of having to admit how bored I was.
Jeepers creepers, where’d ya get those peepers? Jeepers creepers, where’d ya get those eyes? Gosh all, git up, how’d they get so lit up? Gosh all, git up, how’d they get that size?
Every morning I stand in the kitchen and prepare breakfast for my husband before he leaves for work. Two strips of bacon. Two sunny side up eggs. White toast. Lightly buttered. And black coffee.
By the time the toaster dings I hear him pull the chair out at the kitchen table and sit with the morning paper unfolded, reading aloud to himself. I place his plate down carefully in front of him and hold my breath. Waiting.
He glances at the plate and smiles. I breathe and sit across from him. The chain around my ankle rattles in the silence.
I’m not meant to live alone, turn this house into a home When I climb the stairs and turn the key Oh, please be there, sayin’ that you’re still in love with me
When I was a child, my father and I fought all the time. Especially, after the surgery. I didnât want it. And I hated him for doing it to me. Then he died shortly after and now I spend the rest of my life wishing I could thank him.
As a scientist for the new world government he knew what was coming, and as his son I would be a perfect candidate for testing. But when they saw I had no eyes, I became the only human without government implants. They call me Mr. Johnson, the only living free man.
Every day, the deficit grows You spend more than you own Papa always said to me “Keep a close eye on your authority”
