Wednesday Write-in #84

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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.


murky  ::  favourite mug  ::  hasty  ::  myth  ::  ::  murder


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.

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55 thoughts on “Wednesday Write-in #84

  1. Here is my effort for this week

    Cakes #84 March 26th 2014
    murky :: favourite mug :: hasty :: myth :: :: murder

    The myth was that he had committed a brutal murder long ago in his murky past but nobody believed it because he was such a nice chap; kind, polite, gentle even and certainly not what anyone would imagine a murderer would look like. Then of course what does a murderer look like; someone with near set eyes and a distrustful threatening manner I suppose. The rumours that circulate around the WI meetings are abundant and mostly foolish at best but occasionally hurtful. I certainly was not going to go along with this one it seemed quite ridiculous to me; I was never one to form a hasty opinion on someone I have only just met. The man who sat opposite me at my kitchen table drinking tea out of my favourite mug was most welcome and I certainly would not be party to spreading such nasty tittle-tattle; after all he has only just arrived and he can’t be any worse than the last vicar.

  2. Fishing Trip

    ‘Them’s murky waters,’ the old man warned. `Don’t be going near them waters. She’ll get you. Ye`ll no come back.’ He sank back in the armchair gripping his favourite mug of ale and was silent.
    ‘Silly old man,’ James muttered to his pal Pete. ‘I can’t believe nobody fishes there. We’ll go early; might catch us a couple good-sized trout.’
    ‘Home time, Vernon. Be hasty about it.’ The landlord was wiping down the tables and the old man made his way to the door. ‘Mark my words,’ was his parting shot as he stepped out into the night.
    ‘What’s his problem?’ James asked the landlord.
    ‘Oh, it’s a local myth,’ he explained. `About a hundred years ago a young girl was murdered and her body was found in the lake Ever since then they say that anyone who disturbs the waters is pulled under and drowns. They say she is searching for her murderer.’
    ‘Do people really believe that? I know we’re out in the sticks here, but really!`
    ‘Well, the last couple of guys who went fishing there vanished. `We’d have thought they had skipped off without paying their bill, except their rods where found right by the water`s edge.`
    ‘Well, I hardly think some watery ghost got them. We’ll risk it, won’t we, Pete?`
    ‘`OK guys, but can we settle up your tab tonight?`

    Daily Star: Another Mystery at Death Lake – two young fishermen vanish.

  3. It’s been awhile but I finally have the courage to come back here and post a little something. Life got really busy and it’s hard to write with so much going on. Hoping to write a proper post on my blog soon. Thanks.
    “If you’re looking for the truth you won’t find it out there, friend.” He grasps his favourite mug tighter, not wanting you to see his hands shake. His murky eyes are clouded with age and seem fixed on something in the distance. You turn around and see nothing. The man is a myth, a legend. You resist the urge to press him for more information, don’t want to be hasty. Good things come to those who wait. “No,” he continued after a moment. “It waits for you to fall asleep and whispers about murder. Did I do it, you ask? What does the truth tell you?”

  4. Hello all. This is absolutely my first attempt at writing anything other than industry related articles for work. I’m sure it’s pretty bad! I have a terrible structure, sentence formation, etc but here we go:

    Something is different.
    I can tell as soon as I open the door to him. Him.
    I gaze upon him. My eyes fill up with all of him; his hair that has aged before its time glistens with pride as it postures in a perfectly shabby quiff. His eyes not twinkly, or blue, or sparkly, still drag me in with their murky intent.
    My eyes are full, can’t take any more in, my mouth takes over, breathing him in. As he kisses me coolly on the cheek I taste almonds. I flinch.
    I hate almonds.
    Hastily I gain consciousness, trying to remember what this is; I immediately adjust myself to behave the way he wants me to. I recall quickly that the great love I’d planned was just a myth, a tall tale that better men than me would jostle with, enjoying the hilarity of it all, pointing and rolling their eyes at this hysterical woman.
    Nevertheless he is here, and he is familiar like a favourite mug you can always reach for to comfort you, and as I try to be the person he wants me to be I see him drifting away unconvinced of my aloofness. He can see straight through me, he sees the murderous plans I have in store for him, he sees everything that’s wrong with me and everything I despise in me. He sees the love that I desperately grasp.
    This silly creature that no-one takes seriously, she doesn’t deserve the prize.

    • Welcome to the Wednesday Write-In fold, and congratulations on your first story! I think there’s a lot in here – I wondered, when you mentioned almonds, whether you were going to bring in the idea of poison (isn’t it cyanide which smells of almonds?) – but then the tale seemed to go in a different direction entirely. I got a little muddled with your pronouns in the latter half of the story, but the overall feeling isn’t affected by that; I liked the mysterious tension of it. Well done, and looking forward to seeing you back here next week. 🙂

    • Hi,
      Interesting story. I’m about confused about the narrator’s gender – so contradictions in the final para, but overall fine. I’m not too sure whether a murder takes place. The Him seems to deserve it or the other is someone in need of help/support.

      • Thank you all for your support. It was probably a selfish bit of a story that really was just based on a feeling and a moment in time. She loves him, he doesn’t really want her, she’s trying to bend to his rules, this isn’t enough, her lack of self esteem make her feel this is all she deserves, there’s a bit of paranoia in there too. I guess I need to bear the reader in mind and not just empty my head onto a page.
        I really enjoyed doing this though!! Far more interesting than writing about work!

    • I really liked this. I love the ‘quiff’ and that she hates almonds -as that’s not where I thought you were going. I also like that I don’t know the whole story and I feel that’s deliberate on your part. Well done.

    • I enjoyed this with all the thoughts and feelings mixed in. I loved the line of ‘murderous plans’ she has in store for him. Could be part of a larger story. 🙂

  5. Pingback: Overheard #10: The Shopper Returned | patrickprinsloo

  6. (recycled from late submission last week)

    It was spring in Manchester. Occasional blooms of sunlight peered through the murky clouds and some brave birds sang a tune. Spring tried its best to permeate the city, but Manchester fought back, hiding the ocean above. It tried not to be romantised. Industrious towards industry, boned with steel poles, it was still uneasy with a cappuccino.

    There lived Mickey the prole. Gold rings weighed on his fingers, and his plastic trousers glistened with rain water. Relapses of anger without pacification, dappled across his past, like ciggarette burns. At some central police computer, his hasty temper had nicked his file. Each entry an indelible reminder of the event, only anarchy could erase the line in the sand. By the time his eyes had opened, his card was marked. Doors were closed, and certain modes of thinking banished.

    In Britain all can be told from the moment your mouth opens. When Mickey opened his mouth the audience thought scally. His parlance was a product of high volume, tobacco, swearing and joking. There were nearly no words in his vocabulary. It was clear to those who considered Mickey, that he was a dull light, in a sweaty tracksuit, whose money never transcended a pub. It was obvious that his thinking never evolved beyond the mythical football.

    Mickey wasn’t a murderer. He had a favourite mug, a sofa, and popular culture.

  7. She carried her favourite mug everywhere. The CND symbol on it had faded a little, and its rim was chipped like her front tooth. She’d produce it from her handbag: old proprietors would be generous; new ones suspicious- but they’d oblige with murky hot liquids. She wasn’t begging, after all. She tipped generously.
    But myths as giant as gobstoppers grew up around her, local kids would say, ‘She used it to crown her husband. One swift blow to the temple and he was dead. She carries it everywhere so police won’t get their hands on the murder weapon.’
    She always gave her uneven grin when she overheard their tales. She didn’t mind being the neighbourhood fugitive or their oddball millionaire.
    But she’d have been ashamed to overhear her truth: ‘It’s the mug that keeps her sober.’

      • Glad you liked that. I wasn’t sure it worked, but I really wanted it to! Thanks for reading.

    • I love that last line, and what it does to the whole story. Such an interesting character, and I’m sure she has many stories to tell. Clever and concise writing – well done!

      • Thanks, SJ. Yeah, maybe this is one I could elongate, explore more of her story. I certainly need to try and stick with something. I did try out Walking on Ice and wrote the longest piece I have written in a while. It was really useful to do that.

      • Oh, that’s great! I think the organisers are planning to run Walking on Thin Ice again later this year. I’ll enter again, I think. I entered last time but didn’t get anywhere – I don’t think my story really ‘got’ the ethos of the competition. Still, though, it was good to create something for it. Good for you – I hope you find a way to work more on this piece and make it into something longer, and that you take part in WoTI again if it’s run, and that everything else writer-y that you’re getting up to is going well. 🙂

      • Thanks for the good wishes on the writing front, and the same to you! I never got anywhere in the competition, obviously. But I would try again. I did find it helpful. Thanks for highlighting it in the first place.

      • Thanks, Elaine. Yes, of course, you’re right, she should. But I guess social stigma has taken its toll.

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