Six Sentence Sunday is open to all writers. Just pick a six sentence passage from anything you’ve written—published, unpublished, whatever—and post it on your blog on Sunday.
Registration for the upcoming Sunday list opens the previous Tuesday evening at 5pm CST. More information is here.
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Clyota has received a birthday card from her deceased, space-pilot-turned-mass-murderer mother—but it doesn’t make any sense.
The date is wrong, the sentiment is wrong, the poem is cutesy-poo—is this a sign that her mother had lost her mind? Or does it mean something else?
“She never forgot my birthday; I was born on Flag Day, and she always told me the parade was in my honor—Wait. The lieutenant told me to have a happy birthday, too, didn’t he?”
The Pressman closed his eye, and a whirring sound emanated from somewhere inside. “He appeared most emphatic.”
“So . . . what are we missing?”
“I believe,” said the Pressman, “it might be a clue.”
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I hear that Six Sentence Sundays are coming to a close soon. I don’t know what we’ll all be doing for Sunday posts, but I’m planning to stop by regularly and see what all of you are up to on your blogs—and I hope you might do the same.
Happy Holidays to those of you who will be celebrating one this week!
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First ♦ Second ♦ Third ♦ Fourth ♦ Fifth ♦ Sixth
Seventh ♦ Eighth ♦ Ninth ♦ Tenth ♦ Eleventh ♦ Twelfth ♦ Thirteenth
Fourteenth ♦ Fifteenth ♦ Sixteenth ♦ Seventeenth
Eighteenth ♦ Nineteenth ♦ Twentieth ♦ Twenty-first ♦ Twenty-second
Twenty-third ♦ Twenty-fourth ♦ Twenty-fifth ♦ Twenty-sixth
Twenty-seventh ♦ Twenty-eighth ♦ Twenty-ninth ♦ Thirtieth
Thirty-first ♦ Thirty-second ♦ Thirty-third ♦ Thirty-fourth ♦ Thirty-fifth
Thirty-sixth ♦Thirty-seventh ♦ Thirty-eighth ♦ Thirty-ninth
Fortieth ♦ Forty-first ♦ Forty-second ♦ Forty-third
Forty-fourth ♦ Forty-fifth ♦ Forty-sixth ♦ Forty-Seventh
Forty-Eighth ♦ Forty-ninth ♦ Fifty ♦ Fifty-one
Fifty-two ♦ Fifty-three
Earful of Cider 