writing

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Friday Fictioneers – I Write The Songs

(Author’s note: Things have been busy. so I haven’t been writing as much. Here’s today’s Fictioneers.)

© Ted Strutz

I Write The Songs

by Miles H. Rost



Darren closed his notebook, folding his hands across the front.

He took the Alaskan cruise in order to get away from the usual distractions, and allow him a chance to clear his mind.

The cool sea air wisped around him, bathing him in the ideas that he tried for years to put on paper. From the moment he walked onto the cruise ship, he started seeing different inspirations that would give him new fodder for music.

He thought about his friends back in Seattle, wondering if they’d come out of their trances with the new “Tik Tok Friendly” music.

He flipped open the book, and put pen to paper again.

Want to read more of these? Click the Frog and read to your heart’s content!

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Friday Fictioneers – Sharp Dressed Man

(Author’s note: Post-trip, work’s been crazy. Hence why I haven’t been on here. But I’m back for today. And here’s today’s fictioneers)

© Roger Bultot

Sharp Dressed Man

by Miles H. Rost

“I met her at one of the writing club’s outings.”

Delvin adjusted his tie, making sure that it was straight and neat.

“She had interesting ideas about characters, and I wanted to find out more. So we’re going out tonight.”

Delvin turned from the mirror and presented himself to his sister.

“You look good. Getting older, but looking good,” she said, while crossing one of her stitches.

“If we’re going to go see a nice play, I want to shine.”

“If you wanted to shine, you’d have shaved and polished your head.”

Delvin stifled a chortle.

“I’m gonna use that.”

RIP Dusty Hill of ZZ Top. 72 years young, on the way to La Grange.

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Friday Fictioneers – This Used To Be My Playground

(Author’s note: I am working to get back to weekly writing. Work just sucks the energy out of you. So take this, and enjoy!)

© Roger Bultot

This Used To Be My Playground

by Miles H. Rost

“I remember making Gurgles the Clown throw up outside of “The High Roller”!”
“He threw up on that karen, didn’t he?”
“Ha! Now I remember! She was really riding us all day.”
“Can’t believe it’s gone now.”
“Yeah, Once the virus hit, everything fun went away. Can’t go anywhere people might congregate”
“I guess the karens got back at us, after all.”
“Yep. They want us all to be miserable.”
“Did you hear what they will build on the site?”
“Probably another big box store.”
“That’s usually their go-to, isn’t it?”

“Miserable and compliant. That’s all they want us. Period.”

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Friday Fictioneers – Take Me Home

(Author’s note: Nothing. Just letting the writing and music flow. Enjoy!)

jhc-asylum

© J. Hardy Carroll

Take Me Home

by Miles H. Rost

“So, Travis. Tell me where you went.”

Travis fidgeted and looked down at his feet.

“Travis, you know you can tell me.”

He looked up, his eyes bright.

“I was in Korea. It was so beautiful, with all the tall buildings in the distance. Seoul was beautiful, and I wish I could have seen more of it than what I did.”

The soft sound of writing filled the empty space.

“Then what?”

“Green. And red. Heat. The smell of decay. No more buildings. No more people. Charred meat.”

Writing paused.

‘Alright, Travis. Let’s go get your lunch and some pills.”

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Friday Fictioneers – It’s Good To Be King

(Author’s note: I have to apologize to all my readers and others who I should be reading. The last couple weeks dealing with the run-up to winter camp left me with little energy to respond, and that’s all on me. I will be doing better, now that camp has started and I have an idea of what’s going on, to actually visit and remark on other people’s stories.

In the meantime, here’s my fictioneers story, and it’s a bit of a historical thing…)

derelict-building-sandra-crook

© Sandra Crook

It’s Good To Be King

by Miles H. Rost

Steve disliked working at the school. It was not something he wanted to do.

He was waiting for news that seemed to never come. Meanwhile, he had to teach these hormonal girls how to write. It was a Sisyphean task.

When he was called to the office, he thought he was in trouble.

“It’s your wife,” the receptionist said, handing him the phone.

“Tabs, what’s going on?”

“Steve, I just got a telegram.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re going to print. They are asking if $4200 is enough.”

Steve smiled. His work about the kids he taught would be published.

Carrie would be unleashed.

(courtesy of Wikimedia)

(Courtesy of the Boston Globe)

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Friday Fictioneers – Workin’ On It

(A tribute to all writers who struggle through constant writer’s block)

lamps

© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (our Blogmother!)

by Miles H. Rost

Mug of coffee? Check.

Scratch paper and plenty of 0.5 HB lead sharps? Check.

Typewriter ribbon changed? Check.

Circuit breaker off, lamps on? Check.

He was ready. Nothing could distract him, and nothing could get him down. He was going to write and that was that. He put his fingers on the keyboard and breathed.

And he breathed again.

3 hours later, he was still breathing. Not a single word typed.

He removed his hands from the keyboard and sighed.

“There goes my day…”

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