“Mrs. Harris, I doubt you would intentionally harm your child.”

Susan’s first year in child protection was proving difficult. She watched Tyler scramble into the squad car.

“Still, the tox screen was positive. Get sober, and we’ll help him return home.”

Susan almost regretted sneaking cocaine into Tyler’s sippy cup. However, she would do anything to save these children.

K: Here’s one of our trademark cynical stories. I think this can work, but the reveal is kind of awkward and it feels like “Exposition Hell,” as those in the business call it. The characters feel more like cutouts and cliches than real people, and it’s hard to score as a result. BRONZE

MD: Hm. Someone’s trying to appeal to the social worker in me. FINALLY. I like how this starts off with Mrs. Harris and Susan possibly being the same person, only to develop (as slowly as possible in 59 words) into a story about a social worker Gone Bad and spiking a kid’s drink. She tries to justify it with good intentions, but jesus. What if Tyler had actually used the sippy cup!? BRONZE

W: Oh my. What a way to capture the twisted logic in the minds of people struggling with addiction (or other mental health problems). I thankfully don’t know much about the CHiPS program, but how much unsupervised time would a mother have with her son to be able to pull this off? GOLD

For the record, Susan hates people who do drugs, but by itself that’s not always enough to remove a child from the home. So she makes sure the kids fail tox screens so she can rip them away from their parents. Also, for the record, I am not aware of a child protection worker ever doing this, anywhere.

My scores were also good enough to land me in fourth place for the season! The playoffs begin Monday, and I get to write about a rebel.

Louisa picked up a checker. “If I move it there, it looks like a tree!”

Harry squirmed on his elbows. “But that’s against the rules!”

“Or here, and it becomes a spaceship!”

“Mom!” Harry ran to the kitchen. “Lou’s not following the rules!”

Louisa ignored her brother. “And if I move these…” She smiled proudly. “It’s a unicorn!”

K: I can dig this. Harry’s obsessed with the game and Lou’s obsessed with the art. I do like a story where both characters are the good guy and the bad guy in their own way; funny that something this simple would be the one to manage the feat best this week. BRONZE

MD: This doesn’t involve kittens. Boo. However, this also doesn’t involve child molestation. YAY! It’s endearing and normal, and oh my god, I’m so relieved. SILVER

W: I liked the children celebrating Namirala more, but Louisa is cute enough. I have a brother who made a living sandbagging games he was growing bored playing, so I completely understand Harry’s exasperation.

I’m definitely Harry. When I was in kindergarten, I would tattle on kids who didn’t follow the rules. I’ve grown up a lot since then. Now I just keep to myself and stew for hours about why anyone would ever not want to follow the rules. Needless to say, I’m not an artist!

I have slipped back to fifth place in the standings with one week left. However, I put some distance between myself and 7th place. Making the playoffs is not a

The quick reb fox

Flustered, Terrence started over.

The quick red fox jumped ovr teh lazey

Why was this so hard?

The quik fox red jum

He tore out the sheet, fighting back tears.

“Hey Terr, wanna shoot some hoops?”

He nodded. Something he was good at. He closed the notebook, grabbed his dorm key, and joined his roommate.

K: Ah, yes, another one that does both depressing and funny. Tragically funny, but whatever. The setup and tone sets the payoff up beautifully. BRONZE

MD: So much is going on here. 59 words, and you manage to encapsulate a learning disorder; the fact that the learning disorder did not keep this kid out of college because, most likely, he played basketball well enough to get a scholarship; and enough empathy to not be mad or feel this kid is “coasting” on a sports scholarship. GOLD

W: Again, the things in the final paragraph that are left unspoken really help this story. My only quibble is that if his inability to write could push Terrence to tears, would he really be so willing to quit just to play basketball? That doesn’t seem as persuasive knowing that he’s old enough to live in a dorm. SILVER

I recently watched a documentary about kids similar to the one in the story. One student was hiding his Dr. Seuss books so his friends didn’t know he couldn’t read. Anyway, I remain in third place with just two weeks to go. Playoffs are certainly not a lock. Next story has to be about an artist.

“You are guilty,” Judge Arundel bellowed, “of banging my gavel.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” ADA Franks replied, bending over. “Move to strike.”
“Your briefs are definitely out of order.”
She cooed, looking back. “And the jury is well hung.”
Bradford sighed, setting his pen down. He didn’t know how they made state, but high-schoolers shouldn’t write their own dramatic duo.

K: Oh boy…I could tell you a lot of weird stories about high school speech, which is one of the saddest things to which I ever gave significant time. As it happens, I DID typically do dramatic duo. This is pretty fun, in its way, as it has a bunch of eye-rollers leading to a good reason for them to exist. SILVER

MD: I was going to roll my eyes if it was going to turn out to be an out-and-out sex joke. Then it turned into a sex joke written by teenagers, and it was slightly more entertaining. The downfall? The name “Arundel” just made me think of Arendelle, and now it’s STUCK IN MY HEAD AGAIN. “Arendelle’s in deep, deep, deep, deep…snow.” BRONZE

W: I was getting pretty annoyed with the cheesy dialogue, so I’m glad Bradford was, too! I can only imagine Bradford having to score a whole bunch of godawful stories while remaining sane and trying to provide some constructive feedback. BRONZE

Not my strongest week, but it was enough to launch me into third place in the standings with three weeks left. I was a high-school speech judge one year, though I was never given dramatic duo. But I judged some bizarre prose and great speeches rounds.

“Says here your biological mother…” He cleared his throat. “Is deceased. Sorry, that’s all I know.”

Her shoulders collapsed. “My father?”

He knew about her foster care treatment. He knew her need for a father. Now he could be for her what he couldn’t be eighteen years ago.

“Again, I’m sorry.” He averted her gaze. “It says father unknown.”

Continue reading Fiction 59–Parent →

Magnus hit all five targets on the first shot then quickly skied off. He was going to represent Finland this year, but that dream ended when the Russians invaded. His friends insisted he’d dominate the ‘44 games. Perhaps that was true, but with the blood of five Russians now on his hands, he’d never do this for medals.

K: Whoa. Strong twist, though I think it could be more personal. I’m asking a lot here, but there are 19 of you and I have to, right? Still, a very different attack on the challenge. BRONZE

MD: My former roommate is of Finnish descent, and he always brings up the skiing and shooting prowess of the Fins against the Russians. What makes this story is the recognition that our protagonist can’t possibly compete in his chosen sport for “fun” after having to do it to fight a war and survive. SILVER

W: Historical fiction? There’s some Pirate bait! This simply story shows without telling and allows Magnus to capitalize on his athletic abilities. My only quibble would be that I would probably refer to the invaders as Soviets. GOLD

Can’t believe I said Russians instead of Soviets. Thankfully, I was forgiven for that. I had already written the rough draft when I discovered that the 1940 Olympics were going to be held in Helsinki. This successful week launched me into 4th place with five stories left to go.

She hands me a glass of iced tea and kisses my forehead. The radio crackles: “Sunny and mild, no chance of rain.” Sounds like my wife.

“Thank God for crop insurance!” she says blithely. I offer a half-grin.

I wait ‘til she’s fully inside before kicking the ground. Hard. Clouds of dust choke me. She doesn’t fucking get it.

K: So is wifey naive and sunny to a fault, or is our narrator just a dick who never learned to love her properly? I think it can be both, and their weaknesses (we can call hers something else, if you please) make for an interesting dynamic I’d like to spend more time with. SILVER

MD: I don’t get it, either. My impression is that this guy sees his farm and his wife as the same barren disappointments, strangling his sense of life and hope. That’s kinda how my husband views his wife, too. BRONZE

W: A nice slice of life, but the story seems a little hollow. Can someone say something blithely in a way that also requires an explanation point?

I fall to 6th place in the standings, but am more satisfied in my story this week. I’ve met my character many times. I’ve never been able to identify with the personality of a farmer, but I’m glad I’ve been able to meet many and learn about them.

Deity Vocational Questionnaire (True deities only! Demigods, turn to page 17)

1. How long does it take you to create a universe?

a. billions of years
b. six days, then hoo-boy am I tired!
c. As long as I goddam feel like

2. (Essay Question) Some living things will deny your existence. How do you feel about killing them?

K: Yikes. That’s hopefully as cynical as these get. It’s an okay joke that probably works better with a lot more words.

MD: Straight, to the point, and made me smile. Especially the last question. GOLD

W: I smirked, but I don’t think I got much farther. C, of course, is the right answer to question 1. Meh is probably the right answer to question 2.

I was not inspired this time around and consider myself lucky to walk away with a gold. Out of the field of 19, I am currently in 5th place with seven weeks to go.

Misty had always used her beach volleyball skills to make the world a better place. Now she was using them to survive. Who knew that zombies loved the game so?

She had long ago lost her partner (and her ability to spike), but as she decapitated a corpse for her one-thousandth consecutive ace, she knew she would love again.

K: I love this payoff. It’s so amusingly frank when zombie writers tend to go for tedious, forced terror at almost every turn. If this is the world, this is the world! People adapt. Anyway, another very good entry. I wondered if volleyball would appear. SILVER

MD: The absurdity makes me giggle. SILVER

W: This is exactly the sort of outside the box thinking I was hoping we would see with some of these occupations. I’ve never been one for the zombie-craze, and I think this story could work just as well about a volleyball player without an apocalypse. BRONZE

I have started playing in another contest of Fiction 59 stories. There will be ten stories to write, all 59 words or less, all having to do with one profession or another. There are twenty contestants, and the top six scores (based on the Olympic medal system) after ten weeks go to a playoff.

The first week’s prompt was to write about a gravedigger. Judges comments below.

Hazel’s arthritic hands could barely affix the grave marker.

“You were the most precious kitty,” she wept. “I’ll never forget you.” She stepped back to admire her work.

Sadie XCIX
2013-2014

Whiskers brushed her leg. For the last time, purring broke her silence.

“There, there Sadie.” Hazel scratched her behind the ears. “I’ve saved room for you, too.”

K: I assume Hazel’s burying them because she’s about to die? The darkness works best if I make that assumption, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Or she might just be crazy, given the insane number of Sadies, which is also fun. GOLD

MD: This made me laugh mostly because I was expecting another soon-to-be-offing-herself widow story and, instead, Hazel’s burying her cat. There is so much hiding between the lines in this story. It’s a good use of 59 words, even if the concept is kinda silly. She’s buried thousands of cats, all named Sadie, and apparently this one only lasted a year. She’s saving room for the other Sadie, who is, for some reason, WITH her at the gravesite. She had a gravestone especially made for her bazillionth dead Sadie. It’s all so absurd. BRONZE

W: Full confession for the rest of the competition: in my mind, six feet under is the best place for almost all cats. Bonus points for killling a cat, hinting at the deaths of 98 other cats, and implying the future death of a cat, but it’s just not quite enough for me.