Wednesday Write-in #74

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Welcome to the Wednesday Write-in!

Welcome to the Wednesday Write-in. This event runs every week to help any and all writers take control of their productivity and imaginations. Please join in; we’d love to read your work.

Back to our usual five prompts this week. Have any of you thought about submitting your write-in stories anywhere?

Prompts

package  ::  jointed  ::  ribs  ::  monochrome  ::  wet ink

Guidelines

There are no rules, but here are some guidelines:

  • 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 if you like, and comment with a link so we can read it.
  • Please take the time to read and comment on as many other stories as you have time for (but we won’t shout at you if you don’t).
  • If you want to write a poem, a script, or something completely different, feel free.

Get Involved

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

Any questions? Otherwise, have fun writing!

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25 thoughts on “Wednesday Write-in #74

  1. Aloha.

    Here is my effort for this week: It Is Written

    I’ve never entered any of my Write-In pieces for competition; I never thought any of them were good enough to get anywhere. But, p’raps I’ll revisit that. 🙂

    Happy Wednesday, everyone,

    SJ

    • I know none of mine would be good enough as they are, but I definitely think it’s worth revisiting some 🙂 Maybe we should start up a more intensive feedback group, I wonder if it would work.

      • I’m in, if that’s any help. I don’t tend to see my WWI pieces as ‘submittable quality’ – they’re done in the space of an hour every Wednesday morning, and then I tend to leave them aside. Revisiting might be a great idea.

      • Hi, just tuning in for first time in a couple of weeks. I did use a couple of things that I revisited. But then I realised a lot of guidelines say the work has to be unpublished and that includes on blogs etc. so that stopped me from revisiting pieces.

      • Suppose I revisit a piece and make it publishable, maybe extend it or whatever (or not) and change the title and maybe the opening line/para, can I get away with calling it a new and not previously? Not looking for a moral judgement here.

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  3. Whence came and back before, the sprig of light between them; monochromed inside her pinks. Mr warm package of air from barrelled joints, their packaged ribs. Thump, fear, weakness: slurried wet ink.

  4. Pingback: Weekly Wednesday Write-In | Tessa Sheppard

  5. Dear Sarah,

    Happy New Year! I do appreciate your hard work over the years, thank you.

    Please note that my e-mail address has changed as of 16th January 2014.

    New address is as follows;

    fumiyo@arthurnewton1951.plus.com

    I would try to write something every month if not every week in the new year. That’s my aim.

    Thank you again and hope to receive any information you might have in future.

    Best wishes, Fumiyo

  6. Hi everyone,
    Here’s mine for this week.
    The devil is in the detail.
    The package was large. Brown paper tied with string, very unorthodox. I was sure I could smell wet turf from it. It seemed to be dripping. A pool of dark liquid like wet ink gathered under it.
    I wasn’t really sure who had put the package on my desk. It was there when I came back and my boss had already left so I presumed it was her. She must have been in a hurry and forgot the paperwork I supposed. There was no point in bothering her. I’d use my own initiative.
    Normally I knew what I was going to be working with beforehand; there’d be a meeting and official forms and usually an inventory. I had no idea how fragile the contents would be so I took extra care.
    Using my nails delicately, as I would peel clingy strings of pith from fruit, I untied the string. When I saw what was inside I let out a little shriek. I could feel the eyes of some of my colleagues boring into the back of my head. Inside was a perfectly preserved human body but everything was the same burnt umber hue as if he’d been dipped in tea for hundreds of years. The colour of the leathery skin reminded me of how we made treasure maps when we were children. We’d scrunch up a page, a few random tears for good measure, and then we’d soak it in tea. Once dried out, it curled up and crinkled perfectly.
    But this wasn’t a game. This was the real thing. There was a real body lifted from a real bog and it was my job to catalogue it before it got sent off for testing.
    My shriek had drawn attention. I looked over my shoulder to see three pairs of eyes watching. My monochrome man wasn’t something that we mere museum employees got to see every day so I shared my bounty.
    The position of his slack jaw raised some debate. Someone said that his open mouth looked like he was smiling.
    “No I think it’s creepy. Like it’s laughing an evil laugh.”
    “I think he looks like he’s coughing.”
    “Maybe he choked.”
    “Maybe he drowned after the bog sucked him under, consumed him.”
    “No he would have been buried in the bog after he died.”
    “I think his mouth is open so wide because he’s shouting and roaring.”
    “Roaring in agony I’d say.”
    “That’s very dark.”
    “Not really. It’s consistent with the broken ribs. I think he died in battle.”
    “A battle he lost.”
    I allowed them to bounce their opinions around as I got started examining the body. My boss was gone home. There was no point in delaying things. I might even get home early myself if I got a move on.
    The attraction of getting out early drew everyone back to their own desks to itemise whatever artefact they’d been assigned.
    Once the excitement subsided I could examine him in more detail. I could see that he been immaculately preserved. I’d never seen anything like it. Not only were there tufts of hair still on his head but I could see individual hairs on the back of his hands. I could even still see the ridges in his fingernails. The tint of the bog water seemed to highlight details of him in a way that wouldn’t be visible in a living person. It seemed to get inside the cells and show the structures.
    The other three were already gone home by the time I had finished cataloguing the front of the body. It was only when I began to move it that I began to notice something strange about how this creature was jointed. It began at his elbows, like an extra appendage.
    As I rolled him over to inspect his back, a plastic pocket with a piece of paper inside floated to the ground under my desk. Thinking it was the missing paperwork, I didn’t pay it any attention. I was too occupied with the frame-like structures coming from the man’s back. I gently unfolded them and something seemed to come loose. Was it a tail? My heartbeat amplified as I realised he had wings. The focus of my eyes spiralled open to read the note at my feet.
    ‘The devil liked to use his own initiative. Look at what happened to him.’

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