The Big Five Triple-Oh

Somehow, I ended up with 5,000 Twitter followers.

Frankly, if you were to ask me, I’d say that following me is a sign of dubious moral standing and, most likely, an indicator of a brain parasite. You might wanna have that checked out by a priest and/or doctor.

Whatever the case, it is what it is and there you all are and I’m thankful to have you turning an ear toward my lunatic broadcasting. I appreciate you dialing into my penmonkey frequency.

This feels like a good time to give some shit away.

So, here’s what’s on the table:

(1) copy of Irregular Creatures in PDF or Kindle.

(1) copy of Confessions of a Freelance Penmonkey in PDF or Kindle.

(1) copy of 250 Things You Should Know About Writing in PDF or Kindle.

(1) Penmonkey postcard sent to you via Jolly Olde Snail Mail, and on this postcard I will ink a random thought about writing all for you. I might also pass out on the postcard and smear it with drool.

Here, then, is how you get that.

Drop down into the comments.

Write a story using three sentences.

My favorite gets the package.

You have one day — I’ll check back here at 2pm EST tomorrow (24 hours from now) and will pick.

And thank you again, awesome humans. You tickle this little inkslinger’s pink parts.

Go forth and write boldly.

[EDIT: See comments for results!]

163 comments

  • I hate all of you. No, really. You just made my job terribly difficult. So many wonderful options here. Quite a few that aren’t quite stories — they’re vignettes, or the beginnings and endings of stories but do not quite feel complete. Also a bunch that are in-jokes — which are funny, and I love (Jason Blair, YOU SO CRAZY), but aren’t necessarily great stories so much as they’re just funny.

    Here are a handful I really loved:

    She shit on my car and took my dog, heading west for points unknown with nothing but a middle finger pointed in my direction. So, I might have slept with her twin sister. It’s pretty hot in hell, in case you were wondering.

    Dora Mae never complained, never cried, never once spoke out about the way she was being treated. Jack should’ve seen it coming; there’s only so much a gal can take, after all. Too late now, he thought, watching the dark bloodstain grow from between his legs.

    The boy, any boy, looked at the girl, but she was not just any girl. The girl, the princess, the rebel, said, “Save me,” and the boy ran and fought and railed against the unstoppable tides. The rest was just ever after.

    “They say the writer’s ghost still haunts this office,” our tour guide says.
    As my eyes scan the pinups papering the walls—monsters, scantily-clad women, and a single unicorn print—I feel a cold breath on my neck.
    Why do I have the urge to hold a pen and drink a banana daiquiri?

    “I brought the things you asked for,” he said nervously and carefully placed long-handled tongs, a tall glass full of ice, a measuring tape and a red and black permanent Sharpie on the nightstand beside her bed.
    She looked up from lacing her black combat boots (the only thing she was wearing) and drank in his tension, letting it fuel her excitement.
    “I knew you had it in you, Cory, let’s get started,” she grinned.

    The rich man paid me to return his stolen glaive. I battled thieves and dragons, frostbite and an oubliette but I returned it to him as promised. With one hand he showed me the gold, with the othe other he stabbed me through the heart.

    The bad men came and took Pa away. They said they’d bring him right back. They didn’t, so now I’m man of the house.

    To my horror, the hand-written manuscript slipped from the crook of my arm onto the subway tracks. Jumping down into the tracks, I gathered the pages as quickly as I could while onlookers on the queue above me screamed. Without it, I was noth-.

    The Zombie Congress was in session.
    The senior Senator from Ohio, Thaddeus Blather, ate his intern.
    Ohio is a bellwether state.

    It took me weeks of searching, but I finally found the girl from the “MISSING” posters, the girl with the sky blue eyes and the blond hair as soft as sunlight, and rescued her from her kidnappers. “My father has money,” she tells me, “he’d make you rich if you’ll just take me home,” but I just know someday, she’ll learn to like it here. I read the posters very carefully, and they just said she was missing — they never said I had to give her back.

    The dragon was slain, the tower door open at last — all that stood in her way was the knight.
    “Save me,” he choked, blood seeping through the rents in his shining armor.
    The princess smiled sweetly and stepped over him to freedom.

    By the time the doors to the El slid open to admit her an hour later, Jane’s hair and clothes were plastered to her skin by the downpour. She shivered in the air-conditioned car as it idled in the station, staring curiously at the other, indescribably dry passengers, not spotting a single umbrella. Wondering what the hold up was, Jane peered through the rain-streaked window where a group of people stood huddled around her corpse on the platform.

    You shouldn’t’ve worn that sexy robe, Your Honor, or smiled at me from the bench. This is a hammer drill, and something the sex catalog called the “dominator.” When you set that animal who raped my daughter free, I think you said it best: it takes two to tango.

    We met in person for the first time at a Chinese restaurant in SoHo. Her profile picture had been of a cute blonde, so she must have shaved off that beard just before taking the picture. This is why I don’t use online dating anymore.

    And I’ll pick in the next comment…

    — c.

  • All right, here’s the deal. I’m picking four total winners.

    One winner gets the whole package. Postcard included.

    The three runners-up get PDF version of one e-book (either Irregular Creatures, COAFPM, or 250 Things).

    Runner-up NUMERO UNO: Mister Thomas Pluck with:

    “You shouldn’t’ve worn that sexy robe, Your Honor, or smiled at me from the bench. This is a hammer drill, and something the sex catalog called the “dominator.” When you set that animal who raped my daughter free, I think you said it best: it takes two to tango.”

    Runner-up #2: Roger Kilbourne:

    “Dora Mae never complained, never cried, never once spoke out about the way she was being treated. Jack should’ve seen it coming; there’s only so much a gal can take, after all. Too late now, he thought, watching the dark bloodstain grow from between his legs.”

    Runner up #3: Laura W’s:

    The dragon was slain, the tower door open at last — all that stood in her way was the knight.
    “Save me,” he choked, blood seeping through the rents in his shining armor.
    The princess smiled sweetly and stepped over him to freedom.

    And, my favorite of the bunch:

    Michael Montoure, with:

    It took me weeks of searching, but I finally found the girl from the “MISSING” posters, the girl with the sky blue eyes and the blond hair as soft as sunlight, and rescued her from her kidnappers. “My father has money,” she tells me, “he’d make you rich if you’ll just take me home,” but I just know someday, she’ll learn to like it here. I read the posters very carefully, and they just said she was missing — they never said I had to give her back.

    You crazy cats, email me at chuckwendig [at] terribleminds [dot] com.

    — c.

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