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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.
5 comments:
She took the frame off the table and removed the back. Sliding the picture out, she held it for a moment, thinking back to what once was. Now it was gone, and there was a void, nothing seeping in to the emptiness there. It wasn’t large, or hurtful, but it was there. Maybe in time there would be an emotion to describe it, but for now there was none. Placing the old photo face down, she picked up the replacement and slid it in. Repositioning the frame, she smiled at her new husband, who smiled back from behind the glass.
Standing in the door frame, bags in hand, she looked back at the structure that used to be her home. Memories flooded her mind and played themselves out on a mental screen. Ten years of life had unfolded here, good and bad. Chapters of her life had been written within these rooms. A feeling of sadness welled inside of her as she said goodbye and took one last look around. Flipping the light switch and pulling the door closed one last time, she turned and stepped out, the sunlight washing over her. It was time to start a new chapter.
She rose from her chair and crossed the room to the dresser. Amongst the family photographs one particular frame called out to her. Tentatively she reached out and with tears welling up lifted the picture to her eyes. Staring lovingly she stoked the silver metal surrounding the image. Only last week had she spoken to him, only last week had they laughed and joked, their closeness an unbreakable bond, today that was all gone, over in the blink of an eye. That one telephone call had shattered her world, the words still ringing in her ears “your son is dead”.
A world inside a picture frame. The way we were, the way we are, the way we want to be remembered. Faces will fade in time to a memory only the old ones will remember and then they’ll be gone. Scrawled notes and dates and names of ancestors, and family and friends. A nose like mine, eyes like my brother’s, long shiny black hair like my daughter’s. Ah, that’s where that chin comes from. My Auntie had style with that hat and Granddad looks dashing next to that old car. My pictures will become a mystery to my great-grand children.
Spring would start tomorrow, and the framework of the next year was in place. Her winter solitary confinement was on its last day, and she stood framed in the bay window, looking out over the melting white landscape. The gauntlet had been run, her emotions had been flushed. Going back to the city was possible again. The looks of sadness and pity would bounce off of her, and she would be impervious to the “kindness” of friends and co-workers. She could focus again on her work and the children at the center. Tonight, she would say goodbye again and leave.
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