Wednesday Write-in #15

Welcome to the Wednesday Write-in!

CAKE.shortandsweet runs a write-in every week to writers to practise their skills, and get chatting to each other about their work. Everyone is welcome to join in, and the more people you tell, the more everyone will get out of it.

Don’t forget to join our CAKE.writers group on Scribophile.



shock  ::  pancakes  ::  dust  ::  tremor  ::   instrument


There are no hard and fast rules, but here are some brief guidelines:

  • You can use the prompts as inspiration or try to work them into your story somehow. Use as many as you want.
  • When your story is done, post it online (your blog/twitter/in a comment here), tag with #wednesdaywritein and comment with a link so we can read it. You can write as many stories as you like.
  • Please take the time to read and comment on as many other stories as you can.

Featured Story

We’ll feature our favourite story on the blog with a review of it and links to the author’s blog/twitter/facebook if relevant.

Posts will generally go up at 9am(ish) on Wednesday – stories are due by 10am Thursday (UK) to be considered for the featured story. You can keep posting your work after this, it just won’t be featured.

The winner will also be eligible to publish on our special CAKE.shortandsweet genre through Ether Books.


We’ll keep track of who takes part in the write-ins, and you earn points for different things.

  • Take part in a write-in = 1 point.
  • Comment on other people’s stories = 1 point.
  • Share/reblog this post = 1 point.

When you reach ten points the editing team will give detailed feedback on a story of your choice. This only counts for separate sessions—so if you write five stories for one write-in, that counts as one, and if you share on both facebook and twitter, that’s one.


Please look for us on Facebook or Twitter to keep up with the write-ins, or click the follow button to get blog updates!

Don’t forget to read our Previous Issues and check out the Submissions page if you’d like to be a!


Any questions? Otherwise, have fun writing!


33 thoughts on “Wednesday Write-in #15

  1. To be motherly
    Nora woke to a buttery sunny morning. Birds chirped with the same enthusiasm that she couldn’t help feeling on such an optimistic day. She decided that today she was going to be the best mother in the world.
    She met him, rubbing one eye, wading out of the sleepy darkness of his bedroom. His hair was standing up at the back and the front of his hair clung to his forehead in a damp band. His pyjamas were hanging from him.
    She lifted him, felt the weight in her arms as she raised him and then wrapped him into herself, bathing in his heat.
    Downstairs she made him a special breakfast while he played upstairs.
    She was totally absorbed in folding her love in with the flour and pouring them carefully so her pancakes would still be fluffy with love as they cooked. Being a mother was the most important thing in the world, it held her together. Without it she would float away and disappear. Without it she would be dust. She rubbed floury fingers in the air to make a powdery cloud in which she flipped the pancakes.
    It was all nearly knocked to the ground as she leapt with the shock. A sudden high pitched noise erupted from the silence of the morning. Her angelic floating was shattered by a shriek like the sound of metal being dragged along metal. The sound was so offensive to the ear that Nora feel like she was being attacked.
    The air vibrated in the aftershock until it was pierced when the noise was emitted again. She headed towards the sound. The tremor still rang and plucked at her nerves. It pulled behind her eyes and clumped into a headache. Each step of the stairs twanged another note.
    She appeared at the boy’s playroom door.
    “Did you hear me?”
    She knew encouragement was what a good mother should do.
    “You were wonderful.”
    She had flinched when her husband handed him the gift. It was much too expensive for a boy so young. Her husband was always coming home from his business trips with expensive gifts and exotic gadgets for everyone. It was all to alleviate his guilt for being away.
    “Now that’s not a toy, you have to mind that.” She had said gently hoping that this new hobby wouldn’t be discarded as quickly as the rest.
    The air still quivered around them and specks rose in the morning sunlight streaming in through the window.
    “I have a surprise for you.”
    “What is it?”
    “Pancakes.” She whispered dramatically opening her eyes wide.
    “Yummy.” The excitement flexed through his little limbs but he steadied himself and placed his instrument down on the ground carefully. He took a step away from it and jumped up and down.
    As she accompanied her son downstairs she decided that today she was going to spend some quality time with her son, while it was available. They’d escape from their lavish prison. She’d find a cornfield in which they could run and jump free amongst the husks. She would throw him in the air and swish him in the golden clouds of rising dust. She knew the value of their precious time together.

      • Beautifully written. I love the buttery sunny morning! I also liked the fact that she had to decide she was going to be a good mother that day. It’s a very telling moment in such a short group of words! Thanks for such a great example of wordsmithing (not sure if that’s a word, but it is now)!

    • What a lovely story.
      I wasn’t too sure what you meant by buttery at first because I thought larder when I read it 😉
      You’re descriptions are really clear and I can really image the boy and her mother.
      I wonder, is she running out of time?

  2. Sorry – I think I’ve posted this in the wrong place, but here is is anyway.

    ‘Pancakes – special of the day’, the sign read. Meg hoped they would be something special and not turn out to be rubbery. Today she felt like taking a chance, she’d have a change from her usual egg.
    It wasn’t a fancy cafe, more of a greasy spoon, and you wouldn’t want to be too fussy about the odd smear on a glass or bit of dust here and there. But it suited Meg. It was round the corner from the hospital, it was always open when she came off the late shift, and, more importantly, it was cheap.
    She watched fondly as an old man struggled to a table with what looked like all his possessions in two bulging carrier bags. She’d seen him before. He looked like a tramp. She noticed the tremor in the right hand as he lifted the mug. Early Parkinson’s, she thought. He would be grateful. Maybe it would be a special day. Meg smiled wryly at her private joke and checked in her bag that she had the right instrument.
    The pancakes had been surprisingly good. It was closing time and Meg watched the old man leave the café as she paid her bill. She caught up with him before he reached the alley and she had no trouble leading him down behind the bins and rubbish bags. He was indeed grateful to this kind woman who was going to show him a good place to spend the night.
    She was opening her bag, it looked like she was going to give him some money as well. Anticipation turned to shock as with a flash of a scalpel the angel of mercy deftly sliced his carotid artery.
    Meg was good at this; she had perfected her art. She was quick and efficient so as not to cause unnecessary pain and she always closed their eyes so they would look at peace. She knew they were grateful to be put out of their misery.
    Meg felt happy as she closed the door to her small bed-sit. She had had a delicious meal and done someone a good turn, and that was always nice. She washed up and packed away her implements clean and ready for the next special day.

  3. Hi, I’m hoping I’ve posted this in the right place this time.

    Rowden trembled slightly. A thick darkness blanketed him. He had never been in Annabelle’s basement before and he was so engrossed in his conversation with her that he didn’t really take note of his surroundings. They had gone there to find a bottle of wine, and then she had gone back up to answer the phone.
    Rowden reached out to try and find his bearings but all he felt was the dust in the air. There was a musty mix of mothballs and sweat. That’s when the first tremor hit.
    Not knowing where he was or what kinds of threats could be looming over him, Rowden ducked and covered his head with his arms. Again, another tremor. This time it lasted long. Rowden could feel the shelves rattle and he heard lots of things clang and bang against each other. When this tremor stopped, he waited a moment before standing up and calling out to what he thought was the basement’s entrance, “Annabelle! Are you okay?”
    Before he could hear any reply, the ground beneath Rowden started shaking vigorously. He fell to the ground and hit his head on something sharp. Slowly his eyelids started to close and his vision started to blur. He wasn’t quite sure, but he could have sworn he heard the basement door open. He heard Annabelle’s voice, but it wasn’t sweet, it was dripping with alarm. She was yelling his name as she approached the first step on the flight of stairs down into the basement. Rowden forced himself to open his eyes, alert, but it didn’t make a difference. The entrance didn’t give away any light.
    The room shook again.
    Then, he heard a a loud scream, followed by a thud. Rowden reached out with his trembling hand. His fingers brushed against the soft curls of Annabelle’s hair.
    Then, the ground shook once more. This time, even if someone did turn on the light, it wouldn’t matter.

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  5. #wednesdaywritein

    Dinner for Two
    Sheila hunched against the biting wind and made her way towards the artificial lights of the supermarket. She searched both pockets for her shopping list but it was in neither. Once inside the shop, she had to force her shoulders out of their tense stoop. The stress of a shambolic day at the office buzzed around in her head. She needed a stretch and a run.
    She took a shopping basket. She would get some essentials for now and come back tomorrow with her list.
    It had been a very unsatisfying day.
    A crumpled piece of paper lay at the bottom of the basket. She reached for it before putting in her broccoli. Why did people leave litter in shopping baskets? Shopping baskets served only one purpose, surely?
    At home, she had not expected to feel this good, a little retail therapy had definitely helped. It was unusual, but she might do it more often: the pancakes had really hit the spot although the wine had been sweet and cheap. She rested her head against the sofa and stretched out her legs. She heard the tiny bones in her neck click their approval. Before dosing off to sleep, she pondered for a while on whether or not using someone else’s shopping list might be seen as an invasion of their privacy.

    • I love this idea so much, what a fascinating scenario. I feel like I wanted you to explore this a little more, and find out more about who this woman is and what she’s doing. Not to mention who the other party is in the ‘dinner for two’. I really like that there’s this other character there, just off to the side, hidden from our view.

      The last line is great too, I’d love to have a go at writing something similar but I don’t want to tread on your toes 🙂

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