Challenge 30
Writing challenge accepted
Write 30, 300-word short stories, in 30 days
March, 2017
I will do it by the book: Proving hammer and discipline
But, who the hell do I think I am
Telling ME what to do?
Or anyone for that matter?
I’m not that guy
Don’t like telling myself
What I think I should do
None of my business
Not that guy
Don’t like being told what to do
Any more than you
That turtle don’t hunt
Not the kind of person
Hauling off suggesting
I have remote perceptions of anyone’s best interests
In given circumstances
Who am I intervening?
Give people space
Embrace their humanity
Help if you can
Back the hell off if you can’t
I’m a high-minded, low browed, Leftie-Loosely, low-ball, Libertarian!
Unless Libertarians are those library guys who jack in the stacks
Not that anything’s wrong with that
But something’s really wrong with that
Probably thinking of Aquarians
Antiquarians or Urantians
No! Topical Nauticans
I’m not here to tell people
What to do
Who to be
Why to cry
They already know
Their divination
The path of least suffocation
Don’t push, stop pushing, purse your pushy puss and hit the pushiness pause
But, I’m unflinchingly pushy unto myself for being an idiot
Over-weighted lard ass, big nose ear-head
A stupid, clumsy, cereal-eating, milk drooling fool!
I never finish anything right!
Then my cruelty becomes offended
I’m not fair!
Why am I so mean to me?
Give myself a piece of my mind
So I like cereal!
What’s the big deareal?
I defensively lash!
Get mad!
Chide my insensitivity
Tell myself
Start showing a little respect or
I’ll never speak to me again
I can’t stay mad at me
Soon enough I’m laughing
Talking, tickling to myself
As if nothing ever happened
But every then and now
I come down too hard
It hurts and sticks like frozen honey knives
Typical, of my inner Topical Nautican
Whenever grand ideas encroach
I tell myself
Hop to it!
Clear table!
Put cat in bag!
Stock milk & beans!
Something awry goes invariably wiry
30 stories in 30 days
Fine
Ready weeks in advance
Hate being late
Planned it, mapped it, nothing to fate
Nail it like Crucifixion
Every morning: Write out bones
Sleep all day
After dinner: Pour gravy prose, hack to bits
March fast couldn’t come first enough
But come it came
Day One:
300 words. Full steam ahead!
Story about suicidal clear woman
Shunned by Society
You see the ocean right through her
Entering the surf
Befriended by jellyfish
Disappears into the sea
Day Two:
150 words, good stuff!
Treason of reason undercutting conventional food origin myths
I’ll fluff it up later
Day Three:
[Scrawled in pencil with angry doodles]
“The hell do I think I AM
Telling ME what to do?”