Theory; SixSentenceStory

Tomorrow is the day, the day that Denise of GirlieontheEdge opens the link for one and all to share in Six Sentence Stories as writers and readers. That link will be open through Saturday. The prompt words get posted on Sundays and this week’s is “theory”. I wrote the story that came to me and it was thirteen sentences long. I prefer the syntax of that version better, but manipulated, twisted and stretched those sentences until they fit the rule of Six sentences exactly while remaining close to the original. I would not want to read this out loud.

Proving

Oh, he had a theory or two about that woman moved in next door, but he wouldn’t let that get in the way, that had nothing to do with his growing vexation with her, no— let her wear her hair short, wear men’s clothing, it’s a free country, but some of her freewheeling needed to stop at the fence line, and by gosh, he was going to have a talk with her about her squawking free range chickens, that wandering dog, and while he was at it maybe he’d even demand she do something about the dandelion field that passed for her lawn and he was so deep in thought, practicing his lines in his head as he marched up the path, he almost collided with his new neighbor as she strode down the path swinging a basket.

“Why hello!” she laughed, “I was just bringing you some goodies, but why don’t you come have some iced tea on the porch,” and when she saw him taking in the lawn, now devoid of yellow blossoms, she pulled a bottle out of the basket, explaining, “This is last year’s dandelions, not my best year, but it’s good wine; I’ve just started another batch to celebrate good times ahead and look, here’s some eggs for you, I hope you might use them, even with only three hens, they lay more than I can eat by myself, but all I’ve ever wanted was to keep hens, so here they are, ‘the girls’, finally.”

The dog rose stiffly and padded to her, putting its chin on a knee, which today was just covered by a cotton skirt.

“Good old Gus, just a puppy when my husband passed; he can hardly hear or see now, but he manages, and I don’t think I could have managed my cancer without him… but enough about me! I shared my theory with Gus and the girls that our next door neighbor was shy but would drop by eventually, and here you are!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had dandelion wine,” was all he could manage to say, shy as he was.

March Story Chat: “Wanda-Lust” @daveryshiftn, @Charli_Mills, @HughRoberts05, @cathincade, @Annecdotist, @geofflepard

Kid has escaped the Ranch Yarn pages again! Kid has a story featured at Story Chat. Check it out.

Marsha Ingrao - Always Write

Welcome to March Story Chat

This month we have a special guest who has done more to publicize Story Chat and attract and support “real authors,” if I may quote him, than I have.

I am super honored to introduce A. Kid and his friends Pal and Curley to my friends in the Always Write Community. His handler, D. Avery, was a little nervous about letting him loose, but here he is. Please welcome, A. Kid from the Carrot Ranch Saddle-Up Saloon.

Friends sit around the table discussing the latest unpublished short-story.

*The followin’ is a fictionalized account of a fictional tale writ by a fictional character on a local worldwide virtual ranch.*

“Wanda-lust”

by A. Kid

“Kid, come quick. Shorty’s called a meetin’ a some sort over ta the cookhouse.”

“Meat’n what, Pal? Eggs? Better not be eggs an’ bacon. Ya know I ain’t never eatin’ bacon agin…

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CRLC Challenge; Frozen

The February 25 2021, prompt from Charli at Carrot Ranch this week is to: “In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story using the word frozen. It can be descriptive, character focused, action driven. Go out onto the ice and find a frozen story. Go where the prompt leads!” Join in. You have until March 2nd to submit your story, published on the 3rd.

Every visit I am grateful for the window, though it’s always shut tight against any air. Today tapered icicles hang down from the eves, their steady drip in the late winter sun inaudible through the panes, replaced by my mother’s hollow chirping.

I sense my mother is afraid to come here alone. She tells me her granny enjoys seeing me but the old lady never even looks up. Says nothing. Just sits there.

Feels like 80 degrees in this room. As always, Granny’s bundled in thick socks, a lap robe, and a shawl.

Still she just sits there, frozen.

Saddle Up Saloon: Anyone Can Poem

It’s the first Monday, which means Chel Owens is running a poetry prompt out of the Saddle Up. Ride on over and take part in the fun.

Carrot Ranch Literary Community

Well, howdy! My name’s Chel Owens and I’ve a small confession to make: I’m not much of a rancher. The closest I’ve gotten to a rodeo is watching “McLintock!” The closest I’ve gotten to a saloon is to use the bathroom at a bar during a road trip.

What do I know? Poetry. And -believe me- poetry is amazing. It’s clever, awful, silly, serious, snarky, sincere, and beautiful.

Take Ogden Nash:
The Termite

Some primal termite knocked on wood
And tasted it, and found it good!
And that is why your Cousin May
Fell through the parlor floor today.
(c/o allpoetry.com)

—–

Or, William Shakespeare, the master prose-smith:
Sonnet 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests…

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d’Verse MTB; Middles & Turns

Yikes! It’s been almost a month since I’ve been to the Poets’ Pub. On January 28, Peter from Australia had us considering beginnings, opening lines, as we versed. To meet the bar today Peter would have us “look to our middles and see if we can build in dramatic turns, open a new window”. Somehow I ended up wrestling with a started poem from January 2019 when Merril asked us “to consider time and space and what if?” for a Tuesday Poetics. I used the Biolet (a shorter version of the Triolet), a poem of 6 lines, typically of eight syllables each, rhyming ABbaBA and so structured that the first line recurs as the sixth and the second as the fifth. However I switched the rhyme pattern of the middle two lines so this Biolet is ABabBA. Why? In hopes to meet the bar a little better by changing the timing of the turn.

You search, track, it always eludes

slight impressions reveal its path

where it crept, grass swept dry of dew

lightly steps time, beyond your grasp

slight impressions reveal its path;

you search, track. It always eludes.

Saddle Up Saloon; Barroom Free For All

Come by the Saddle Up and meet three characters from Anne Goodwin’s Sugar and Snails. Get the details for your own free copy.

Carrot Ranch Literary Community

“Kid, whut’s goin’ on? Looks like mebbe some movie stars asettin’ at the bar. They here ta take the stage?”

“They might be some sorta celebrities, Pal, but they jist wannered in. I ain’t got no acts or innerviews lined up this week.”

“These three ladies soun’ like they might be from thet same place as them two blokes thet come through thet time, ‘member? One of ‘em, Logan it was, tangled with yer goats.”

“Think these ladies is arguin’ a might ‘bout where they come from, Pal. Thinkin’ there’s some drama unfoldin’ right here at the bar.”

“Ya best not be eavesdroppin’ on the customers, Kid. Least ways not so’s they notice ya doin’ it. So who’s who?”

“Well, them two at the end a the bar come in t’gether. Venus – that’s the curvaceous one with the dangly earrings – said Diana needed a drink ta calm her…

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Kaleidoscope; SixSentenceStory

All the Colors

Even though I could barely see through the dim blustery swirl channeled by the headlights, I didn’t worry that he kept driving into the snowstorm; he wouldn’t allow himself to become mesmerized by the dizzying white fractals rushing at the windshield. He said he’d get us home; I trusted him.

I had unlatched my seatbelt so I might be more comfortable; because I was plumping my coat around me as best I could, fumbling with the heater yet again even though it was as far up as it could go, I don’t know what happened, what we hit.

There was a crack in the windshield, a sparkling symmetrical web radiating out from where my head struck. I sensed that he was uninjured, but immensely disappointed in himself because of what happened to me; I wanted to tell him it was okay, that I was okay, warm even.

I glanced back, saw all the colors of my life as if through a kaleidoscope but the tunnel was brightening, bursting with pure white light; I turned to it and continued home.

---

The above is a Six Sentence Story in response to the prompt word “kaleidoscope”. On Wednesday our prompt provider, Denise, at GirlieOntheEdge, will post the link up and we shall all share our stories told in exactly six sentences. You have through Saturday to link your Six.

Saddle Up Saloon; Colleen’s Double Ennead Challenge

It’s the third Monday of the month, so you know what that means. Colleen Chesebro is hosting a syllabic poetry challenge out of the Saddle Up Saloon! See what she’s up to and try your hand at the Double Ennead, a form Colleen dreamed up just for Carrot Ranch.

Carrot Ranch Literary Community

Welcome to the Saloon and the first Double Ennead Monthly Poetry Challenge. Every third Monday of the month, I’ll be over here at Carrot Ranch with another double ennead challenge. Each month, we will explore a different theme or image to inspire our poetry. I hope to see you in the Saloon!

The wordEnneadmeans nine, and a double nine is ninety-nine! Carrot Ranch is famous for 99-word flash fiction. Now, the ranch has its own syllabic poetry form written in 99 syllables!

The Double Ennead comprises five lines with a syllable count of 6/5/11/6/5, (33 SYLLABLES per stanza) 3 STANZAS EACH = 99 SYLLABLES, NO MORE, NO LESS! Punctuation and rhyme schemes are optional and up to the poet.

Why write poetry?

When a writer embraces theability to convey complex images and emotions in just a few lines, they have learned to strengthen their writing. In the…

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Saddle Up Saloon; Howdy, Colleen Chesebro!

Read all about her! The real Colleen Chesebro interviewed by fictional characters at Carrot Ranch’s own virtual Saloon:

Carrot Ranch Literary Community

“Kid, ya told me ya got Colleen Chesebro comin’ in this week.”

“Yep. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what, Pal?”

“Well, I have ta ask, ‘cause we’re fictional characters an’ sometimes we git fictional characters in here at the Saddle Up as guests, so, I jist was wunnerin’… is Colleen fer real?”

“Of course she is, Pal. Jeez, why d’ya have ta ask that?”

“Well, mebbe she’s real, but I jist find her unbelievable.”

“She is fantastic, if that’s what ya mean.”

“Kid, I cain’t figger her out. Colleen Chesebro is a ex-military faerie whisperer? D’ya s’pose she’s got like a split pers’nality or somethin’?”

“Maybe you oughtta split, Pal, ‘cause here she is now. Jist shush an’ be polite fer g’ness sakes. Howdy Colleen! Welcome ta the Saddle Up Saloon.”

“Colleen Chesebro! I kin ask her m’sef.”

“That’s enough ‘bout what she’s done, Pal. Shush now. I wanna…

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CRLC Special Collection Challenge; River of Consciousness

The January 28, 2021, Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge prompt is special. This 99-word story prompt will be posted and presented to Sue Vincent on February 17. If you want to be included in this collection, respond through the form by February 11, 2021. Use the comment section at the Ranch to share, read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. See the Rules & Guidelines.

The prompt is to, “in 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about life as a river of consciousness. Think about the possibilities of the prompt. Go where the prompt leads!” After struggling and worrying about my dried up well regarding this river prompt I went where the prompt led me, though that may be a foreign place for many readers.

The Hunter

The pale winter light was already waning when he began following the buck.

Only the frost sparkled moon witnessed his pursuit farther and farther into the snowy woods.

The buck loped across the snow covered river, looked back from the tree line. He followed. Midway he heard water chuckling under soft ice. Breaking through, he chuckled too, suddenly realizing the joke.

Letting go his rifle, he slogged through deep icy slush, pulled himself up to where the deer had disappeared. Soaked and freezing, he nestled into the snow, saw the river of stars overhead.

He chuckled again. Another river.