Robin Hawke

January 31, 2012, 1:30 PM
Filed under: Three Sentence Stories

Deliberately, they chose to elope. At Niagara Falls, Bea told her fiance that the water’s noise would have drowned her relatives’ quarrels. John stood, by her side, delaying the moment they would turn to argue about cheesy churches.


January 30, 2012, 2:54 PM
Filed under: Three Sentence Stories

Laura’s freshman crush was a thing of theatrics. A bit of a rooster stew. With each dawn, she cried doom or proclaimed inviolable love.

Mind the Gap
January 29, 2012, 5:06 PM
Filed under: All Writing Challenges, Uncategorized | Tags:

There’s a gap, I’m going to call it January and thank you January is almost over, between the sides of my brain. If I spend too long on one side, the gap gets wider. It’s quite lovely on the right, energizing and relaxing. The left is full of shoulds and would yous and couldn’t yous. I’ll mind January (two more days!) and tick my shoulds.

In the meantime, I need help. I’m behind on a few blogging awards. If you would, leave me a question or two. Some whats, whys and hows. Leave them here and I’ll be so grateful for you and February.

January 29, 2012, 4:45 PM
Filed under: Three Sentence Stories

I heard the nights are wild with magnetic energy. In early hours I stood. But the night sky was dead and even the stars failed to twinkle.

January 28, 2012, 1:59 PM
Filed under: Three Sentence Stories

In my element, I slung mud with gusto. I wallowed; I raced around the shallow pit to pull another tug-of-war victor into that glorious mix of dirt and water. When I stood on the stoop before my mother—in jeans slick with loam and slings of clay-draped hair—my exhilaration ebbed but she was cool and handed me a towel.

What’s up?
January 27, 2012, 2:35 PM
Filed under: All Writing Challenges | Tags: , , ,

What’s up?

The sky. That’s a silly joke, get it?

My mom tells me I’m unique. Different than Jerry. He’s my exact twin brother. I don’t know if that’s a joke. I don’t see it. We are both left-handed. We look alike but I’ve something more—a special mole on my nostril. Mom says an angel forgot to wipe off his kiss. And then she kisses me on the same spot and tries to wipe it away.

Today I told her. This time she made me sad. I don’t want to be a dishwasher. I want to be a conductor. Like Jerry does.

Friday Fictioneers

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January 27, 2012, 1:09 PM
Filed under: Three Sentence Stories

Every month, they reunited on an occasion coinciding with the fullness of the moon. This month, each of the dearly invited conveyed something particular to plunk between two slices of hostess-provided bread, rye, wheat or sour dough? With the procession of ingredients: a bounty of pickles, cheeses and cold cuts, even peanut butter for tots, a largess of greens, onions and tomatoes, not to forget the guests of honor—champagne mustard and herb mayos—even the accountant would make the sandwich of one’s dreams.