Droplets, droplets everywhere
They're on my clothes and in my hair!
The cause is all the plague deniers-
Their leader with his pants on fire,
he told them this would "disappear",
So go to church! Go get a beer!

And now they laugh at common sense.
Are they, perhaps, simply too dense
to calculate that odds are greater
They'll end up on a ventilator
Because they said "it's just the flu"!
"I've got my rights, so forget you!"

So now I buy my food at dawn,
But even then, there's always one-
They'll come too close, no social distance,
A twinkle in their eyes that glistens,
Itching for a fight to pick.
These anti-maskers make me sick.

Literally.

No one wants a writing challenge (2020 is challenging enough), so how about a thread for prompts?

I've got one. Pick a short story you've written, or write a new one. For a twist, rewrite your story in a different genre. A chilling horror story? Rewrite it as a romance. A mystery can become fantasy. You get the idea. Alternately, you can choose a short by another author for this exercise. Keep the story line and characters, but change the slant.

Could be fun?

Doggone it, Writers, we need a challenge.

Short and sweet-

1000 words max

setting - either another world, or a pre-2000 on planet Earth

Your story must include one of the following:

A mysterious letter

an unexpected encounter

a windfall

a stranger with a message


PM your entry by the end of the month, and let's make a go of restarting the writing challenges. The guidelines offer plenty of room for creative freedom.

Give it a go?

First off, everything I've read indicates that 80% of Coronavirus cases result in mild symptoms. Even so, mild preliminary panic has set in where I'm located.

There are no reported cases of the virus in my city, but my employer put out two notices today about how to prepare. A co-worker's sibling sent a picture form his state of empty grocery shelves. People are stockpiling food. We're reading about school closings abroad and major sporting events without spectators. Tonight, for the first time ever, there was an empty house at our favorite pizza place. No waiting. Spooky.

What are you guys seeing in your neck of the woods?

If you've seen the sad News thread, you know our friend Bri is facing down some scary stuff. We're not in the bar, but I want to raise a glass to toast Brian H and offer a little tribute-

There once was a passel of writers
And among them a cheeky old fighter
With a humour so sly
There's no one quite like Bri
He makes this ole world a bit brighter

I even added the U in Humor just for you, Bri.

So, let's try a reset for the writing challenge. Rather than a flash challenge, this is short story with a 2000 word limit.

Your prompt:

Your MC has a vision, dream, or other inspiration to build something. What is it and what is the result? Or perhaps - who/what decides to move in?

Pm your entries.

PayPal has a haiku contest with a $1000 prize.

https://haikuthatcanpayyou.pgtb.me/36wh5V


Haiku That Can Pay You

You booked the big family trip. Congrats!
Got concert tickets for you and your friends. Great!
Now comes the hard part:
dealing with all that cash (or worse, a check).
Luckily, big expenses don't have to be a hassle.

Share your funniest story or best idea about splitting a big expense in a haiku and you could win $1,000*! 

Thought Starters:

The resort's not as
All-inclusive as we thought!
Oh well, math can wait.


Front-row seats! Awesome!
I'll pay you back as soon as
I find my checkbook. 



The deadline is Tuesday, June 18th. Follow the link above for more details.

Writers,

The two prompts for our May writing challenge have been chosen by popular vote. Put pen to paper and write a story 750 words or less based on one of the following:

Your story must end with the sentence "And that was how we finally got rid of King Harry"

Write a story that is dialogue only.

Send your stories to me via PM . Once we have 2 stories, I'll put out a last call and post the next day. If we're still at 1 entry by May 31st, I'll survey the community to decide the next step.

Wow, we got some GREAT prompts! I've posted all the entries, including one received via PM.

Choose the two prompts that most inspire you to put pen to paper, and vote by end of day Friday. The top two vote getters will be the basis for the May challenge, which I will post Saturday morning.

Do you have a great idea for a writing prompt? For the BWF May writing challenge, I want YOU to submit prompt ideas.

Either reply on this thread with your idea or PM me directly. I'll put all the story prompts received by Wednesday May 8th up for a vote to choose our May writing challenge.

From the website:

We publish twice a year:  Summer and Winter.  The deadlines are March 15 for the Summer issue and September 15 for the Winter issue.

We accept essays, short stories, and interviews by individuals with a disability or a community member.  If you are an individual with a disability or part of the disability community as a family member, caregiver, special educator, or in any way connected to disability, we want to see your disability-related writing.


Word limit is 6,000, but we will consider a longer piece.

We are committed to publishing new writers as well as experienced ones.

Our first commitment is to unpublished works; but we will also consider works that have been published previously.  Please include the place of first publication at the bottom of the submission.  Simultaneous submissions are fine as long as you keep us informed of the publication status.

We will pay $25 – $250 for a published submission, and payment is determined by length and quality.  Payment for previously published work will be reduced.  A contract will be sent upon acceptance.

All rights revert to the author upon publication.

For more details, visit  https://pentimentomag.wordpress.com/submission-guidelines/

Parhelion Literary Magazine is accepting submissions for the Summer 2019 issue.  They welcome submissions for fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and visual art.

We are especially interested in strong voices, compelling stories, and innovative narrative technique. The same general thinking applies to visual art as well: thought provoking, innovative, eye-catching. Most importantly, we want to connect to your work emotionally. We want to feel something when we read or view it.

You'll find their submission guidelines here:

https://parhelionliterary.com/submission-guidelines/

And you can check out their current issue here:

https://parhelionliterary.com/

I could not find the deadline for summer issue submissions.

From all the fine entries in the 2019 Writing Challenge Number 1, I am pleased to announce the winning story and writer- drum-roll...

Table Seven
by Gyppo

Congratulations and thanks for entering, Gyppo!

As no good deed goes unpunished  ;) I'm passing you the hosting baton. Beat whomever you want with it, but do give us a new challenge when you're ready.

I encourage the other entrants to claim their stories. I personally enjoyed every single one. Why not take a bow?

https://bestwritingforum.com/index.php/topic,954.0.html

Out of seven fun entries, we now have a three way tie.

Please support the participants by reading an voting. You have 48ish hours.

Happy reading!

Okay, BWF, due to a THREE WAY TIE, we have a second round of voting for the 2019 Writing Challenge #1. Please vote for your favorite of these three fine stories. You ahve ONE vote, and TWO days to choose. I'll tally the votes at 6 p.m. Memphis time.





SWEET TOOTH

Mortimer Hanley knew the Roman god of desire was a myth perpetuated by greetings card manufacturers. Cupid had no role to play in his life.

"Hello there, cariad." He recognised the voice. One of the under-achievers from 5NB who'd been in her final year when he first started teaching. He'd chosen Classics because that meant he'd only ever be dealing with the brighter, better behaved pupils.

This girl hadn't changed much since leaving Caerphilly Comprehensive. Yet he felt himself blushing as she weighed the pear drops into a paper bag and twisted the corners shut. It became a habit. Every Friday after school - two ounces of pineapple chunks, sherbet lemons or liquorice twirls.

But then she disappeared. Got herself a proper job according to the owner. And for some reason Mortimer's purchases never tasted as sweet again even though he maintained his weekly routine.

The liquorice twirls  were his undoing. He suffered five sleepless nights - the agonising pain making his skull feel like it was being pierced by burning arrows.

"Mr Hanley? The nurse will see you now."

His irrational fear of dentists almost made him change his mind and leave. Then he heard someone behind him. "This way, cariad."






The Wrong Arrow


"For the last time, who has number 7,299,354?"

"Sorry, Maxwell, that's me. It's been a long day," said Cupid, waving his ticket in the air.

"You're up. There's an emergency in Paradise."

"We're in Paradise," said Cupid, yawing.

"Not here. Paradise, Michigan," said Maxwell, rolling his eyes. "Floyd and Bertha are in need of your services pronto. No time to waste!"

Cupid snapped his fingers and appeared on the rooftop next to Bertha's home. The near-blizzard conditions coming from Lake Superior made it difficult to see the couple arguing on the front porch. Not to mention the threat of frost bite in his most private of places.

"What do you mean, no?" asked Floyd.

"You love that floozy, not me. Maybe you'll understand this," said Bertha, slapping him on the face.

After witnessing the smack down, Cupid knew time was short. He positioned his bow and reached into his quiver for an arrow. It was empty: Cupid had already shot his load. Undaunted, Cupid pulled a golden dagger from his pouch. This should work, he thought. He let the dagger fly. It struck its intended target, but had unexpected results.

Maxwell will not be pleased.






Table Seven

   "Of all the restaurants in all the towns..."  I thought aloud as her group entered.

   "Booking for five.  Johnson."  Her hair was grey instead of rich chestnut, but I knew.

   A family table, six seats. 

   She moved her chair to sit at the head of the table.  A Matriarch's place.  The couples faced each other.  The middle-aged woman looked like her mother.  Lucky woman.  She could have looked like me if things had been different.

   The youngest couple were still bubbly.  Ostentatiously left handed, flashing her engagement ring.  Obviously a celebration dinner.

   I checked out the oldest one as I served.  She looked at me a few times with a slight frown.  Maybe she recognised me, or perhaps just didn't expect a man my age to still be working.  I noticed a few fiery red strands amongst her grey and smiled.

   "My Grandaughter's engagement dinner."  She announced, and the girl  flashed her ring under my nose.

   "Very nice, Miss."

        =====

   As they left she hesitated in the door, smiled, pressed a folded napkin into my hand.

   "My number, Jimmy.  If you've got over your shyness in the last fifty years, I'm still single."

Compatibility

Peter placed the napkin on his lap. "Our profiles say we are a 99.98% match."

"It was 99.97%" Kate replied. "Shall we have some Chablis?"

"I only drink red."

Peter waved at a passing waiter: "A Chablis and a Merlot, please. And, do you have a vegetarian menu?"

Kate sniggered. "Do you have a meat only menu?"

"No and no," the waiter said and left to get the wine.

Silence enveloped the table. Peter cleared his throat; drummed his fingers on the table. "Dogs, rugby, jazz, Italian food, staycations."

Kate harrumphed: "Cats, football, disco, Indian food, beach holidays."

More silence. The wine arrived. They sipped and swallowed in unison: synchronised drinking.  "I don't suppose you read, do you?" Peter asked.

"I do. It's my passion. Crime, fantasy, literary fiction, biographies, anything but poetry. I read constantly. On the train, in bed, even on the loo."

Peter leant forward. "Have you read Jonathan Strange and Mr Norris?"

"Mr Norrell," Kate corrected.  "One of my favourites. Have you read The Mermaid and Mrs Hancock?"

"No, but it's on my list. Is it any good?"

Much later. "Thanks for a wonderful evening. Shall we do it again sometime?" Kate asked.

"Yes please."





UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCE

I wrapped a towel around my waist after showering to answer the door. Who could it be at this late hour?

She stood there, holding a Valentine card.

"Err, hello, I'm your neighbor in #4B. I found this in my mailbox. Did you send it?"

I looked at her, not sure if it was a scam, and decided to ask her in. "Please come in and let me have a look."

She glanced at the towel and flashed a wry smile. "Why not, you seem like a gentleman."

The return address was blurred—#4C or maybe #4E. "I did not send this. What does it say on the card?"

She blushed as she read it to me.

     To the beautiful woman in #4B,

     I've watched you from afar since you moved in a month ago.
     I am a shy guy and did not have the courage to introduce myself.
     Until now, with this card on this special day.
     Would you like to have dinner?

     A shy admirer,
     Robert

"But my name is Michael."

The towel dropped to the floor. She shrugged and gave me a passionate kiss. I did not refuse. I'm not shy. Too bad for Robert in #4E.






   Freedom's Flight

    Jane would be waiting.

   "Might as well...."

   Ruffling his feathers, Cupid  made himself more presentable before reaching for his bow.

    "We'll see how things go first," he promised. "I'll have faith."

    But as soon as he opened the door, Jane set upon him. Stream after stream, accompanied with blasts of hot air. 

   "You jerk!"

   Jane re-loaded on the fly.

   "Dammit woman, is that 3-ply?"

    She sneered, "Ha! You think I'd waste it's softness on you?"

    "Ouch."

    So Cupid shot her back, right between her cross eyes. When she slumped, he quickly caught the hair dryer and turned it off.

    "You see? This is why I won't buy the good stuff." Cupid looked around at the mess. "You'll never change, eh?"

     Maybe he should just give up on Jane, after all, it had been ten years.

    "No!" He stood. "She will love me! Jane will be fine in the morning."

    Cupid smiled at that statement. "Jane is always fine by the morning."

    "Don't worry, sweetheart." He pulled loose hair from the arrow's shaft. "I have billions. One of them has got to be yours."

    Gathering Jane's limp form up, they went to bed.

 






SWEET TOOTH

Mortimer Hanley knew the Roman god of desire was a myth perpetuated by greetings card manufacturers. Cupid had no role to play in his life.

"Hello there, cariad." He recognised the voice. One of the under-achievers from 5NB who'd been in her final year when he first started teaching. He'd chosen Classics because that meant he'd only ever be dealing with the brighter, better behaved pupils.

This girl hadn't changed much since leaving Caerphilly Comprehensive. Yet he felt himself blushing as she weighed the pear drops into a paper bag and twisted the corners shut. It became a habit. Every Friday after school - two ounces of pineapple chunks, sherbet lemons or liquorice twirls.

But then she disappeared. Got herself a proper job according to the owner. And for some reason Mortimer's purchases never tasted as sweet again even though he maintained his weekly routine.

The liquorice twirls  were his undoing. He suffered five sleepless nights - the agonising pain making his skull feel like it was being pierced by burning arrows.

"Mr Hanley? The nurse will see you now."

His irrational fear of dentists almost made him change his mind and leave. Then he heard someone behind him. "This way, cariad."






The Wrong Arrow


"For the last time, who has number 7,299,354?"

"Sorry, Maxwell, that's me. It's been a long day," said Cupid, waving his ticket in the air.

"You're up. There's an emergency in Paradise."

"We're in Paradise," said Cupid, yawing.

"Not here. Paradise, Michigan," said Maxwell, rolling his eyes. "Floyd and Bertha are in need of your services pronto. No time to waste!"

Cupid snapped his fingers and appeared on the rooftop next to Bertha's home. The near-blizzard conditions coming from Lake Superior made it difficult to see the couple arguing on the front porch. Not to mention the threat of frost bite in his most private of places.

"What do you mean, no?" asked Floyd.

"You love that floozy, not me. Maybe you'll understand this," said Bertha, slapping him on the face.

After witnessing the smack down, Cupid knew time was short. He positioned his bow and reached into his quiver for an arrow. It was empty: Cupid had already shot his load. Undaunted, Cupid pulled a golden dagger from his pouch. This should work, he thought. He let the dagger fly. It struck its intended target, but had unexpected results.

Maxwell will not be pleased.






Secret Valentine

< doorbell >

Smiling, Michelle smoothed her dress and checked her reflection in the hall mirror, glad she'd splurged on the makeover.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. He was so handsome in his crisp suit. "Hello Luke!" She beamed, "please, come in."

He looked past her, "Hey Michelle, what are you doing here? Is Brittany still getting ready?"

"Brittany? You mean Brittany, next door?" She motioned over her shoulder, bewildered. "She's in Spain, celebrating her engagement. Didn't you hear?"

Luke looked stricken, "n-next door? Engagement?"

Realization struck. The Valentine, the romantic invitation to dinner - meant for her neighbor! Her face burned thinking how thrilled she'd been, first on coming home and finding the envelope, then that little shiver of excitement when she'd slid the RSVP under his door. A week of fantasizing, a small fortune on a new outfit, all of it, OMG, mortified her.

"Oh, dear!" she said.

Luke stared at her, blinking, "oh, dear."

Fraught seconds ticked by while they stood frozen.

Finally, Luke laughed. "Well, this is certainly awkward," he grinned.

"Yes, it is," she smiled.

"I brought wine."

"I have wineglasses."

And the rest, as they say, is history.






    Table Seven

   "Of all the restaurants in all the towns..."  I thought aloud as her group entered.

   "Booking for five.  Johnson."  Her hair was grey instead of rich chestnut, but I knew.

   A family table, six seats. 

   She moved her chair to sit at the head of the table.  A Matriarch's place.  The couples faced each other.  The middle-aged woman looked like her mother.  Lucky woman.  She could have looked like me if things had been different.

   The youngest couple were still bubbly.  Ostentatiously left handed, flashing her engagement ring.  Obviously a celebration dinner.

   I checked out the oldest one as I served.  She looked at me a few times with a slight frown.  Maybe she recognised me, or perhaps just didn't expect a man my age to still be working.  I noticed a few fiery red strands amongst her grey and smiled.

   "My Grandaughter's engagement dinner."  She announced, and the girl  flashed her ring under my nose.

   "Very nice, Miss."

        =====

   As they left she hesitated in the door, smiled, pressed a folded napkin into my hand.

   "My number, Jimmy.  If you've got over your shyness in the last fifty years, I'm still single."

Crazyhorse Magazine is open for submissions of fiction, non-fiction and poetry through May 31st.

Fiction and non-fiction - they are open to all narrative styles, "Send a story we won't be able to forget".
Submissions of fiction and nonfiction should be between 2,500 and 8,500 words.

Poetry-  For poetry,  "We read with a discerning eye for poems that demonstrate a rhetorical and formal intelligence—that is, poems that know why they are written in the manner that they are." Submit a set of 3-5 poems.

Payment for accepted work: $20 per page of layout with a maximum $200 payment.

PUBLICATION RIGHTS & AUTHOR PAYMENT
Crazyhorse acquires First North American Serial Rights to published works, which means that copyright for any works published in Crazyhorse revert to the author upon publication. As part of the journal's publication contract, we request your permission to feature published works or excerpts on Crazyhorse's website and in its advertising.

http://crazyhorse.cofc.edu/submit/

ONE STORY is an award-winning literary magazine that publishes one story at a time.

https://www.one-story.com/index.php?page=os

Submission Periods: January 15th - May 31st | September 3rd - November 14th

Submit your literary fiction stories between 3,000 and 8,000 words. "We are looking for stories that leave readers feeling satisfied and are strong enough to stand alone."

One Story pays $500 and 25 contributors copies for First Serial North American rights. All rights will revert to the author following publication.

AFTER you warm up with the BWF writing challenge https://bestwritingforum.com/index.php/topic,931.0.html , Consider entering your flash stories 500 - 1000 words for consideration at Flash Fiction Online http://flashfictiononline.com/main/submission-guidelines-flash-fiction/

Be sure to read their submission guidelines, and their "hard sells" page for tips on what they're not looking for.

They pay $60 per accepted story. Not bad!

Writers, it's time we had a good, old fashioned challenge, don't you think?

There are no prizes, other than bragging rights and one free Lemon Sip courtesy of the BWF Bar (tell Bones to put it on Karl's tab).

Just in time for Valentine's Day, here's your challenge:

In 200 words or less, write a story with a beginning, middle and an end involving one of the following:

First Date

Last Date

A Misdirected Valentines Card

A crime of passion

Cupid

A heart

Any genre, any interpretation of the above list. PM your entry to me by next Friday, February 15th. That's one week, folks! Deadlines are a good thing. All entries will be posted and the winner decided by popular vote.

C'mon, writers gotta write.