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DRABBLE. A story of exactly 100 words, no more, no less. Up to 15 words extra are allowed for the title. Hyphenated-words-are-argued-about. The drabble craze started in British SF fandom in the late 1980s, and the term originates from a Monty Python skit: "Drabble. A word game for 2 to 4 players. The four players sit from left to right and the first person to write a novel wins." However to be playable, the 'novel' had to be cut short. Brian Aldiss became enthusiastic about mini-sagas of 50 words, and one writer even advocated 8 words, but eventually the Birmingham University SF Society decided on 100 words. Many respected SF writers joined in the The Drabble Project and the resulting collections were sold, all proceeds going to charity. Lately, drabbles have been drawing attention again, beginning in Doctor Who fanfic and then other bigger fandoms like Trek. Variants of 150, 200, or 350 words have appeared. However, the most common form is still the 100 word drabble.
I'll not put many restrictions on the content, just make sure it is not a hate filled rampage or illegal. I reserve the right to remove any content I deem unacceptable. NC-17, Fan fiction, Real Person fiction (RPF of celebrities) or just general fiction are allowable as long as it is not defamitory. Poetry is acceptable. If you choose to write adult content, please make sure to put NC-17 or a rating in the header for your post so that others will know BEFORE reading it. (Not everyone likes to read that, and if they are warned, well, they read it at their own risk.)
Please note that I am making no money off of this. I just enjoy the challenges and constraints and have found it a useful tool in my own writing, and I wanted to share the fun with others. I will not tolerate flaming or disrespect on this blog. You are reading the content here at your own risk, so to speak, so if you come across something that upsets or offends you, please do not rage about it here. This is not the place.
You may post your drabble directly as a comment, or place a perma-link to your own blog in the comment box. Either way is perfectly acceptable, since we are dealing with a limited word count for the posts.
I'll not put many restrictions on the content, just make sure it is not a hate filled rampage or illegal. I reserve the right to remove any content I deem unacceptable. NC-17, Fan fiction, Real Person fiction (RPF of celebrities) or just general fiction are allowable as long as it is not defamitory. Poetry is acceptable. If you choose to write adult content, please make sure to put NC-17 or a rating in the header for your post so that others will know BEFORE reading it. (Not everyone likes to read that, and if they are warned, well, they read it at their own risk.)
Please note that I am making no money off of this. I just enjoy the challenges and constraints and have found it a useful tool in my own writing, and I wanted to share the fun with others. I will not tolerate flaming or disrespect on this blog. You are reading the content here at your own risk, so to speak, so if you come across something that upsets or offends you, please do not rage about it here. This is not the place.
You may post your drabble directly as a comment, or place a perma-link to your own blog in the comment box. Either way is perfectly acceptable, since we are dealing with a limited word count for the posts.
4 comments:
Loretta lifted his sequined mask and kissed the rim of cheekbone supporting each hollow eye socket, then laid her head down on his sweat misted chest. She reached for the brightly colored sweets strewn around them on the floor and unwrapped a chocolate candy roll, licking the tip before sucking the whole rich morsel into her mouth.
“So Sands, what little kid did you accost to get all this candy?”
He laughed, fingering her elegant backbone and flicked a little orange and yellow candy corn off her sticky thigh.
Sands answered by letting her taste the chocolate in his mouth.
Calmly, she entered the dimly lit room, her eyes darting ubiquitously, surveying the scene. Her friend had told her about this night and she was more than ready to give it a try. Three rows of tables, each highlighted with a single candle, on each table a place card, one would bear her name. Excitement began to rise within her, she flushed and felt that familiar shudder starting in the pit of her stomach. Around the room stood groups of men, she felt like a little kid in a candy store. The Black Widow had never been speed dating before.
As he walked into the dark room, he heard a crinkle beneath his feet. There was a sweet smell in the room, familiar, yet he couldn’t place it. Reaching over, he flipped on the nightlight, not wanting to disturb the sleeping child. Purple light bathed the floor bringing life to what he had stepped on. Glittering, scattered about were candy wrappers. The pumpkin bucket lay at the foot of her bed, untouched candy spilling out as if the pumpkin itself had retched up the contents. Chuckling, he scooped it up as she woke.
“Daddy?”
“Go back to sleep sweet pea.”
She stares at the jar of candy on the counter. He bought it that night, her favorite, butterscotch disks. They had scattered over the roadway and she scrambled about, clutching with frozen fingers to collect every last one. They sat now, five years later their golden hue shimmering in the late winter sun. February, the shortest month, the hardest as well, as it was February when it happened. Valentine’s Day, dinner, a proposal, and horror. The drunk driver never saw them. He hit them and continued on. He was caught and tried and sat now in a cell. For life.
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