Chiff and Fipple Forums

I can't even be bothered to count. If I'm within the limits, have your people call my people.

Gimme a break. I obsessively clicked on Tools and scrolled to Word Count in MS Word. But, I think Bloomfield counts the words. He has to or else copy and paste into Word to do it that way. Either way, that's pretty sick.

DCrom: having met you, I wondered the same thing myself.
Tony

TonyHiggins wrote:DCrom: having met you, I wondered the same thing myself.
Tony

Hey! Just because I like my meat very rare!

But I can't be a vampire - my wife insists that I'm more of a jackass.

TonyHiggins wrote:Still not under 400 words, but closer (447). Talk to my lawyer.
I'd like to see the thread go on, even if I disqualify myself with my verbosity.

My first entry was originally 936 words..
paring it down to 400 and retaining as much flavor as possible was a challenge

ENTRY:

It’s very difficult to breathe when there’s a Shetland pony sitting on top of you. Luckily, ponies find hard kicks with sharp-toed boots rather uncomfortable, and my sister happened to be nearby and wearing her riding boots.

I should’ve noticed the not-so-subtle signs that Gypsy was about to sit down. I knew she was old, and that her front legs weren’t as strong as they used to be; but if I could hold that hind leg up just a couple minutes more, I’d be done cleaning and trimming hooves for the day. Besides, I was tired of getting swatted in the face by horses’ tails (not to mention having to inhale the gaseous aftereffects of a grass-and-clover diet). Gypsy, understandably, didn’t care about my concerns. Her front legs were tired and needed a rest, and I was holding her back leg up where it did her no good whatsoever. I felt the pony lean into me as I crouched on one knee next to her, so I leaned back, thinking, “See, I can push, too.” So she sat down... on me. And I learned that it’s very difficult to breathe when there’s a Shetland pony sitting on top of you.


[True story, BTW. I was about 10 or 11 years old when it happened.]

Bloomfield wrote:Funny how your posts are always less than say 15 words. Except your story in this thread which had more than 700...

so if you can keep it to .4K words, by all means, we want a sequel to The Librarian's Perspiration.

My new plan is just to divide my first entry in twain, calling the first section "Aswang Top Half," and the second section, "Aswang Lower Half," and have it be two entries.

Walden wrote: My new plan is just to divide my first entry in twain, calling the first section "Aswang Top Half," and the second section, "Aswang Lower Half," and have it be two entries.

I am afraid that won't cut it. I mean, it'll cut your story in half alright, but it won't ... oh, you know what I mean. The story has to be 400 words, not a part of the story. Saying that entries will be considered on a stand-alone basis. But I am sure you can come up with something about infertility and fruit baskets that fits into 400 words, Walden.

Bloomfield wrote:

Walden wrote: My new plan is just to divide my first entry in twain, calling the first section "Aswang Top Half," and the second section, "Aswang Lower Half," and have it be two entries.

I am afraid that won't cut it. I mean, it'll cut your story in half alright, but it won't ... oh, you know what I mean. The story has to be 400 words, not a part of the story. Saying that entries will be considered on a stand-alone basis. But I am sure you can come up with something about infertility and fruit baskets that fits into 400 words, Walden.

ENTRY: It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was a dark and stormy night. But soft what light through yonder window breaks? But that ain't no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly.

"My nose is quite nice, but I fear turning it up would spoil it," said Anne, patting that shapely organ.

"I haven't so many good features that I could afford to spoil those I have; so, even if I should marry the King of the Cannibal Islands, I promise you I won't turn up my nose at you, Diana."

With another gay laugh the girls separated, Diana to return to Orchard Slope, Anne to walk to the Post Office. She found a letter awaiting her there, and when Gilbert Blythe overtook her on the bridge over the Lake of Shining Waters she was sparkling with the excitement of it. "This island and all adjoining it are inhabited by hairy savages, who are certain to attack us, and whatever these dwarfs may do we dare not resist, since they swarm like locusts, and if one of them is killed the rest will fall upon us, and speedily make an end of us."

But I reckon I got to light out for the Territory ahead of the rest, because Aunt Sally she's going to adopt me and sivilize me, and I can't stand it. I been there before.

THE END

Works Cited: A Tale of Two Cities, Romeo and Juliet, Thurlowe, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Seven Voyages of Sindbad the Sailor (Arabian Nights), Anne of the Island

Quoted from a renowned journalist, delivering his article to the editor:

"Sorry, boss--I didn't have enough time to make it short."

Walden, you forgot "Alas, poor Yorick..."

Philo

PhilO wrote:Walden, you forgot "Alas, poor Yorick..."

Philo

For a long time now I've been meaning to write a story about an accountant in 19th-century Brooklyn, whose one-legged maniaical boss swears to bring down a white mouse that infests the accounting firm's offices, leading to his own eventual destruction. I already have the first line:

Call me Sheldon.

LOL!

That reminds me of the older woman running frantically up and down Miami Beach shouting, "Help, help! My son Sydney the dentist is drowning!"

Carol

something of an entry


She Danced in the Light

The universe didn’t operate in quite the same way for her as it did for the rest of us. Life for her was a chaotic ride into the cosmos…mundane was simply not in her vocabulary. Creativity ran rampant through her blood, flowing from her hands in the form of art and words; her imagination going places that we could only partially comprehend. She lived her life dancing to a beat known only to her, yet the beat planted a spark of Awen in all that passed through her life.

A glass of Guinness raised in toast, a wild journey to beyond has been undertaken…

To you, S., for living your life as only you knew how.

(in honor of my friend and sister, who journeyed beyond the veil Aug. 1, 2004)

(in honor of my friend and sister, who journeyed beyond the veil Aug. 1, 2004)

A toast, a tune, a prayer, and well wishes to everyone who misses her.
Sincerely,
Tony

Hey Bloo will this website help to weed out the nefarious entries, the site deals with poetry only but it might be some assistance.

Foetry: http://www.foetry.com/

MarkB

From the Foetry website:

Over and over again, judges often select their own students and friends, even when manuscripts are read "blind."

Doesn't apply here. Bloomfield has no friends.
Man, I crack me up.
Tony