Robin Hawke

February 29, 2012, 4:05 PM
Filed under: Three Sentence Stories

Melissa collected bones. She tossed deer femurs, raccoon teeth, and possum skulls around the back yard. In the winter, when her garden dried brown, it looked like the set of a spaghetti western.

Stars and Stripes
February 28, 2012, 5:36 PM
Filed under: Three Sentence Stories

Jet trails stripe the sky.  The evening sky, dotted with stars, settles. Somewhere, up there, there’s a flag and a pair of pliers.

February 27, 2012, 1:24 PM
Filed under: Three Sentence Stories

The father fell asleep. His eyes closed, pupils stilled.  What woke him—the grass beneath his tires or the screams of his children?

February 26, 2012, 2:37 PM
Filed under: Quotations | Tags:

If the communication is perfect, the words have life, and that is all there is to good writing, putting down on the paper words which dance and weep and make love and fight and kiss and perform miracles.
―Gertrude Stein

February 26, 2012, 2:16 PM
Filed under: Three Sentence Stories

There is a kiss in the morning. There is a kiss when work goes well. Reserved kisses, they eschew hope and satisfaction for delight and praise.

A Noisy Day
February 25, 2012, 2:39 PM
Filed under: Three Sentence Stories

Deer bed in the thicket. Gusts bang shutters and the screen door. Quarrelsome chimes collide through lulls.

February 24, 2012, 2:32 PM
Filed under: All Writing Challenges | Tags: , ,

The writing on the note was plain, a jumble of capitals and lower case. The paper was perforated, a jumble of lines and holes. The ink was smeared. And I read the words of a liar. I tried correlating them to experiences and memories without success. Staring at the truncated crossings of letters t and f, the open loops of letters g and p, I noticed the haste in the letters I, I, I, the fear I would interrupt him in the gaunt y, o, u. In my search for shreds of content, meaning disintegrated into picked bones on stone.

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