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!]
Steve Paulo says:
The screaming was becoming unbearable. I knocked on the wall and asked my neighbor, quite politely I thought, if they could keep it down. With a loud BANG and a louder CRUNCH, the screaming stopped.
August 3, 2011 — 2:02 PM
Josh says:
All I can smell in this dank concrete room is the blood of my friends.
The machete’s a bit rusty near the handle, but it’ll do the job just fine.
When they bust that door down, ravenous and hungry, I’ll give them the meal of a lifetime.
August 3, 2011 — 2:03 PM
L.G says:
There was once a rude magician. He left his rabbits everywhere. He even left me sawed in half for 3 hours one time.
August 3, 2011 — 2:08 PM
mandarific says:
Chuck knew the end was coming when he saw the swarms of pegasi gathering on his lawn by the hundreds, leaving cairns of rainbow feces to mark their path. Despite his lack of pants and the threat of spilling his gin he still managed to make his way to the old trunk of halloween costumes in his attic, where he clothed himself in the guise of the enemy. Drink in hand he went forth through the enemy lines, safely escaping without so much as a single pegasus feather brushing the worn felt of his ancient, ill-fitting disguise.
Why lie. This story was brought to you by Vicodin. BESTSELLER INCOMING.
August 3, 2011 — 2:10 PM
Corey Nagle says:
Some redbearded stranger from the internet once (okay, maybe twice) told me to do some crazy, bizarre things for him in trade for untold riches and a van full of hookers, of which a minimum of 80% would not be cracked-out meth heads. As I fulfilled his requests, visions of middle-aged women, mostly lesion-less, holding stacks of tens and twenties played through my head like an 8mm film on an attic wall. Turns out, for all of my effort, all I ended up getting was one hundred-something words, a handful of sideways glances, and a swift kick in the nuts.
August 3, 2011 — 2:14 PM
Benoit Lelievre says:
Nobody could sleep anymore, because she was on everybody’s mind. Dead, she was more alive than when she was breathing, smiling and pretending to enjoy the hellhole she dug herself in. Men fight for many things, but they will forever fight for an idea, something they have never and will never get.
August 3, 2011 — 2:16 PM
Sandy W says:
As my mixer hums, the ingredients in the stainless steel bowl meld together like abstract art as individual elements churn into a fluffy sweet batter. A breeeze sneaks in through the window whafting the scent of strawberries to my nose as I slice them carefully with a paring knife. I grin knowing the surprised smile that will appear on his face when he walks through the door and sees me — his strawberry shortcake.
August 3, 2011 — 2:18 PM
Earl Davis (@earlrdavis) says:
I feared. She smiled. We married.
August 3, 2011 — 2:23 PM
Blain Garrison says:
Anna, the love of my life, died today. She never loved me. Fucking cunt.
August 3, 2011 — 2:25 PM
Rich Magahiz says:
The African elephant fixed me with a skeptical stair while the containment pool spread its heavily borated contents across the cracked slab in our direction. “So then, any other bright ideas, Vernon?” it sneered.
“Why yes, Master Jumbly-Tumbles, as a matter of fact there is something that you once mentioned which just came to mind.”
August 3, 2011 — 2:29 PM
Heather Marie Adkins says:
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.
August 3, 2011 — 2:34 PM
Quinn says:
When the zombies began to form minds of their own, Caesar didn’t worry.
While the zombies began ripping his flesh open and making him one of them, he laughed, not worried at all.
In his final moments of sanity he began to think about the girl with the pretty blue eyes and soft hands, heart twisting as he finally realized that he truly did love her—now he was worried, if only because a dead man could not apologize.
August 3, 2011 — 2:36 PM
Jason L Blair says:
Chuck asked me to write a story.
“But you can only use three lines,” he said.
I told him three lines don’t even get me past my tolerance level.
August 3, 2011 — 2:37 PM
Sedona Leigh/Sarah Skuseth says:
Fred the toeless, dwarf assassin took aim, thinking the time ripe to shoot her as she choked in the middle of the restaurant. In an unfortunate happenstance of timing, the Ruger discharged wildly as the half gnawed broccoli escaped her gullet with a loud pop and hit Fred in the eye. Thrown easily off balance, due to a lack of toes, Fred fell heart first upon his steak knife.
August 3, 2011 — 2:45 PM
anthony g says:
There once was a king who bade his scribes to break the ancient laws for his own entertainment. “Where your prose can be short, it must not be long” was the rule of thumb, and those who chose to break it were destined to lose theirs. Some scoffed at the king and lost their lives, but those who hearkened their hearts to the kings request were gifted with the king’s hairy, sweaty, mystical fullness.
August 3, 2011 — 2:49 PM
Jack Houser says:
“This should’ve taken a lot longer,” I muttered as my hand hovered over the Big Red Button.
I mean, this was Big, so it should’ve felt like I was finishing the final scene of some Grand Epic Novel of All Mankind, right? But as my hand dropped like God’s Fucking Cartoon Anvil, I knew we were already at the end, and I felt jipped, like my Epic, my moment in the spotlight, was only about three goddamned sentences long, and filled with Gratuitous Capitalization to try and make Something Bigger out of it all.
August 3, 2011 — 2:55 PM
Jason Stuart says:
Robin hood shot a hickory bow. Hickok had them Colts. Ol’ Hank, he drove a Chevrolet.
August 3, 2011 — 3:02 PM
Roger Kilbourne says:
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.
August 3, 2011 — 3:03 PM
Ellie Ann says:
“I have a surprise for you” the note said on the kitchen table.
I ran to the bedroom – a figure hid under the covers and black leather pants, a muzzle, and a whip spread across the bed.
My breath caught in anticipation as I undressed, donned the pants, and flung back the covers – only to have a bengal tiger lunge at my face.
August 3, 2011 — 3:08 PM
Kenneth says:
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.
August 3, 2011 — 3:11 PM
K. Gainor says:
Muscles tensed, eyes bloodshot with intensity, he waited, poised for the final hammer-blow. Slowly, deliberately, he eased his finger down, bit by bit, for one… last… click.
“Now that the post is written,” he cooed maniacally, “I can tend to the Dorito Pollen.”
August 3, 2011 — 3:11 PM
Angela Perry says:
“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?
August 3, 2011 — 3:15 PM
Anita says:
I have a little baby called Stanley, but we call him Stanosaurus, because of the noises he makes. He must be happy as he smiles after living outside my body for only a month. He likes kisses, hugs and boobies and squatches his pants alot.
August 3, 2011 — 3:20 PM
Oona says:
The mouse detective shifted his hat and signalled for the cat to follow. Slowly but surely the two former enemies crept down the dark, dank alley until ironically they stumbled into the nightclub bouncer dog having his way with the cat’s feline wife. Then, in reverse Tom & Jerry style; the cat pounced the dog, the dog ate the traitorous detective mouse, and the feline threw up in the hat.
August 3, 2011 — 3:21 PM
Amber says:
The tidal wave hit us, snapping our bodies with its white, liquid fists. I clawed my way to the surface and drew in a desperate, crackling gulp of air. The last sound I ever heard was a soft pop as the undercurrent dragged me back down to its milky underworld they called cereal.
August 3, 2011 — 3:27 PM
Elizabeth says:
“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.
August 3, 2011 — 4:02 PM
Garner Davis says:
John Xavier Whiffenpoul, III, eldest scion of the Westhaven Whiffenpouls, haughtily exclaimed: “How dare you besmirch the integrity of our noble family crest?”
“Sir, I meant no insult to you or your … crest. However, as a physician, I need to gather as much information as possible before attempting to remove an unknown object from a man’s rectum.
August 3, 2011 — 4:18 PM
Spomenka says:
“Why did you break up?”
“I said I refused to live in fear. He said that was fine and all, but he wasn’t going to have a long-distance relationship.”
August 3, 2011 — 4:22 PM
Tom says:
Jake drove like a maniac, taking corners too fast and weaving in and out of traffic, desperate to get to the wedding before it was too late. He burst through the doors of the chapel to find it empty; rose petals and rice covering the floor, the echoes of his entrance fading as he stared at the deserted pews. Jake turned and trudged back to his car as hot tears fell, destined to forever hold his peace.
August 3, 2011 — 4:23 PM
Coyote Southbridge says:
A lustful covetousness for a Chuck-hewn tale overtook my heart but rather than parting from a nominal fee and aiding in the purchase of shit catchers for B-Dub I hatched a plan. I must engineer a milestone for Wendig to mark and turn his ear with my witty tale. Like Newt Gingrich before, I artificially inflated his followers praying they wouldn’t be marked as spambots lest his numbers wane before his congratulatory post.
August 3, 2011 — 4:26 PM
R.L.W. says:
My dearest, evil Doctor Ritz, I am writing this note to inform you that your minions have failed to carry out your hopelessly flawed plan to kill me yet again. Furthermore, I have decided that enough is enough and I will no longer round you and your minions up and turn you over to the authorities. Therefore, this letter will self destruct in three—“KABOOM!”
August 3, 2011 — 4:36 PM
Louise says:
I felt safe existing in my virtual world of a noble artificial sun, ether sweet perfumed flowers and watercolour countryside.
They pulled the plug and, now, all I can see from my chair are the four sickeningly oppressive white walls of my lonely reality.
Wait, is that a door?
August 3, 2011 — 4:41 PM
Rick Carroll says:
It was a dark and stormy night. She has some nice boobs, I thought adverbily. When the sun rose, I found out that she was actually a greeting card.
August 3, 2011 — 4:59 PM
okamoto says:
In his own motel room he dialed the number on the card. The Senator himself picked up. Done, he said. Yes, done. No sir, she didn’t suffer.
August 3, 2011 — 5:12 PM
terribleminds says:
Okamoto:
I would ask that you stick with one entry, if you please.
Pick one of those four and go with it.
Muy danke.
EDIT: And, you did see the thing about three sentences?
— c.
August 3, 2011 — 5:16 PM
okamoto says:
He asked for a kitchen cleaver, sharp. Tied a string around the base of his little finger, tightening it with his teeth. Picked up the knife.
August 3, 2011 — 5:14 PM
okamoto says:
They killed Charlie by filling his car with rattlesnakes. Just tossed a bag of snakes in the backseat. He got in drunk, drove a mile, died.
August 3, 2011 — 5:14 PM
okamoto says:
Marthe was a live-in au pair from Utrecht, Germany. Lovely, chubby, nice. Got along with everyone, right up till she drowned the two boys.
August 3, 2011 — 5:15 PM
E. Hunter says:
“Come with me?”
Her mind circled around the serendipity of their meeting, and she ached to reach out and take his outstretched hand, snipping the last tie that held her to the life she knew.
“I can’t.”
August 3, 2011 — 5:16 PM
okamoto says:
He took the job in Paris. It was November, rainy. In the hotel room he spread newspapers, then stripped down and greased the sniper rifle.
August 3, 2011 — 5:17 PM
Beverly Diehl says:
She’d already purchased the book, but couldn’t resist entering the contest anyway. Was she a contest junkie, or a secret stalker of the man with the terriblemind? He considered throwing caution to the winds and awarding her first prize, just to find out, but the overused cliche made him blow chunks and go with another, much less provocative choice.
August 3, 2011 — 5:19 PM
tamsy kennedy says:
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.
August 3, 2011 — 5:21 PM
Proxi says:
Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice. NO, WAIT, THAT’S DISGUSTING! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME…
August 3, 2011 — 5:21 PM
im_not_a_lizard says:
“I need you to check that all of the wires are in the correct place and that your modem is connected before I can escalate the call, sir.”
“I’ve already told you, I know what the problem is. I can check the wires, turn the modem on and off, do a fucking rain-dance and it will still need you to send a techie out to fix it”
“I understand that sir, but I need you to tell me if your computer is correctly connected to the mains and if…sir…sir…was that a gunshot…sir?”
August 3, 2011 — 5:26 PM
Dan Krokos says:
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.
August 3, 2011 — 5:26 PM
Risky Business says:
Leonard the Noble peered over a rocky outcropping, squinting in an effort to see what lurked inside the mossy cave about a hundred feet from his hiding place. For years he’d of slaying the Famed Dragonling of Derptopia, and now that he’d obtained the Sword of a Thousand Curses, swam the River of Uncommon Bacteria, and climbed the Mountain of Utmost Pointiness, he had his chance.
A reddish-brown, scaled tail coiled itself around his leg, followed by an impeccably polite, “Can I help you?”
August 3, 2011 — 5:28 PM
Risky Business says:
Ugh, I WOULD screw that up.
*dreamed of slaying. As in “For years he’d DREAMED of slaying the Famed Dragonling of Derptopia…”
August 3, 2011 — 5:29 PM
im_not_a_lizard says:
^^^ That period was supposed to be a comma – bugger my tiny f’n keyboard *slinks off in embarrassment*
August 3, 2011 — 5:31 PM
Chad Kallauner says:
I shouldn’t have left my drink unattended, Bill thought, stumbling from the barstool as his surroundings blurred and slowly transformed into the Cloud City scene from Star Wars.
A swarm of tiny objects approached until Bill could make out the distinct features: pale yellow phallic-shaped pods imprinted with checkerboard patterns thundered straight for him.
As soon as Bill screamed the bizarre phrase “Cock-waffles” with eardrum-bursting intensity, he retreated in haste, smacking his forehead into the steel frame of the doorway in front of the stunned bar patrons, propelling himself into an uncharted star system where the invading cock-waffles could not reach him.
August 3, 2011 — 5:32 PM
Gloria Oliver says:
Sheryl felt a sudden chill as if death itself had reached down and marked her as its own and turned around. It was the Bearded Monkey. Death would have been merciful to what she dreaded would be coming next.
August 3, 2011 — 5:33 PM