Since your tiny love story pieces for the NYT I though about mine and I thought and thought, and today it emerged, some @Mesa Fama here is my very own very first attempt for a micro story:
"My mother, always eager to bring people together, has invited her gynecologist and her 6-year-old daughter over for Christmas cookie baking. The girl is engrossed, hands deep in flour and dough, but her mother seems less interested in baking.
I sit quietly, flipping through my photo album from an epic trip to the US, feeling like a stranger in this familiar space. The mother glances over, intrigued, and soon leans closer, asking about the photos. I begin to speak, recounting stories of canyons and endless highways. She listens intently, her presence warm and undemanding. In that simple, unexpected moment, I feel truly seen—just as I am."
Yes! That line had haunted me my entire life. I love this. It’s not true. Our hearts are thriving incantations forever transmuting the beats into this tangible thing called art. I love you ❤️
Thank you, Vicki, and Stephanie! Thank you, Mesa! This is so fun. I was feeling stuck and this is a practice of playfulness, curiosity, and we get to write! Thank you for the shoutout too. I love “poet’s drum.” Xoxo
Your 100 words are reminding me of yet another poem my Oma wrote. She gifted it to me when i was taking a creative writing class for school about 10 years ago. It didn't really land for me then, but it SURE DOES now!
Your heart is made of gold and I love that you share it with us so tenderly here.
Yes! I love this. I’ve been working on micro pieces, but I have wanted to get to 100. At the moment I’m halfway. This could push me to complete the project!
Love this challenge! I’ve been in a writing rut lately, this sounds like the type of thing that can get my curiosity to take the lead! 😬💕 thanks for sharing!
Not much in the way of ground rules, but I’m guessing at exactly 100 words and spontaneous, relatively unedited…so here is one:
Life is a sport, they say and yet, some things, like time are treated unfairly in our everyday existence. Time wasted, time’s up, give me a moment more—none of them operate under the rules of engagement taught to me by the Mad Hatter and the White Rabbit. So, if you don’t mind, I would like to suggest a change in the way the Universe doles out this sometimes worthless, sometimes precious commodity. Just before the alarm goes off, or as the pot is boiling over, we flawed humans have the option of stopping life with a hearty, “Time out!”
Walking home in the morning after a party in the same clothes and makeup as the night before, minus one shoe. I slept at the house where the party was held. Woke up. Head pounding. Kinda dizzy. Maybe still drunk? Feeling kinda sickly at least in part from realizing the situation of being a partier, left over from last night, in a house where I was a stranger. I had crawled slowly and carefully out of bed so as to not wake up the man-boy I woke up next to. Oddly, he didn’t seem to wake up or even notice the bed had moved or that I was getting hurriedly dressed, looking for and failing to find my missing sandal, then tip toeing across the bedroom floor to quickly flee.
My high school literary magazine had an entry I will never forget: "Time is but hour fantasy." I wish I could remember the author's name. I remember her face!
Since your tiny love story pieces for the NYT I though about mine and I thought and thought, and today it emerged, some @Mesa Fama here is my very own very first attempt for a micro story:
"My mother, always eager to bring people together, has invited her gynecologist and her 6-year-old daughter over for Christmas cookie baking. The girl is engrossed, hands deep in flour and dough, but her mother seems less interested in baking.
I sit quietly, flipping through my photo album from an epic trip to the US, feeling like a stranger in this familiar space. The mother glances over, intrigued, and soon leans closer, asking about the photos. I begin to speak, recounting stories of canyons and endless highways. She listens intently, her presence warm and undemanding. In that simple, unexpected moment, I feel truly seen—just as I am."
I can see the kitchen and the gathering!! I love your story!!! Thank you so much for sharing 😍😍😍
Dear Mesa, thank you for your very generous and kind reply - if you can see the kitchen and scene, that means a lot to me. A heartfelt Thanks
Just fucking brilliant. Your words permeate visuals of enlightenment. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, Stan <3
Yes! That line had haunted me my entire life. I love this. It’s not true. Our hearts are thriving incantations forever transmuting the beats into this tangible thing called art. I love you ❤️
YES!!! My hearts never felt more alive 🖤🖤 I love you!!! 😍😍😍
Thank you, Vicki, and Stephanie! Thank you, Mesa! This is so fun. I was feeling stuck and this is a practice of playfulness, curiosity, and we get to write! Thank you for the shoutout too. I love “poet’s drum.” Xoxo
So glad you’ve joined in!! This is my happy place 😍😍😍
“Laughing, cherishing the beats of a whole heart, moving in time to a poet’s drum.” ♥️
♥️♥️♥️♥️
Mesa! I love your reflection on Time!
Your 100 words are reminding me of yet another poem my Oma wrote. She gifted it to me when i was taking a creative writing class for school about 10 years ago. It didn't really land for me then, but it SURE DOES now!
Your heart is made of gold and I love that you share it with us so tenderly here.
XX
Awww I love that my little piece reminds you of a much larger whole ♥️♥️♥️
Ps- I can’t wait for my snail mail 😍😍😍 xoxo
Yes! I love this. I’ve been working on micro pieces, but I have wanted to get to 100. At the moment I’m halfway. This could push me to complete the project!
Hooray!!!! I love micro so much. It’s my favorite space to write in ♥️♥️♥️
Love this challenge! I’ve been in a writing rut lately, this sounds like the type of thing that can get my curiosity to take the lead! 😬💕 thanks for sharing!
YAYYYY!!! I hope this gets you unstuck!!
Not much in the way of ground rules, but I’m guessing at exactly 100 words and spontaneous, relatively unedited…so here is one:
Life is a sport, they say and yet, some things, like time are treated unfairly in our everyday existence. Time wasted, time’s up, give me a moment more—none of them operate under the rules of engagement taught to me by the Mad Hatter and the White Rabbit. So, if you don’t mind, I would like to suggest a change in the way the Universe doles out this sometimes worthless, sometimes precious commodity. Just before the alarm goes off, or as the pot is boiling over, we flawed humans have the option of stopping life with a hearty, “Time out!”
Love it!
Beginning of a mystery novel.
Walking home in the morning after a party in the same clothes and makeup as the night before, minus one shoe. I slept at the house where the party was held. Woke up. Head pounding. Kinda dizzy. Maybe still drunk? Feeling kinda sickly at least in part from realizing the situation of being a partier, left over from last night, in a house where I was a stranger. I had crawled slowly and carefully out of bed so as to not wake up the man-boy I woke up next to. Oddly, he didn’t seem to wake up or even notice the bed had moved or that I was getting hurriedly dressed, looking for and failing to find my missing sandal, then tip toeing across the bedroom floor to quickly flee.
Oooooooo…. I’m in! I’m intrigued!!! I want to keep reading!!!!
Thank you. The missing shoe is a bit of a modern re-telling of Cinderella as part of the mystery. Heehee
I had a feeling that was the case!
I'm glad you made that connection. :)
My high school literary magazine had an entry I will never forget: "Time is but hour fantasy." I wish I could remember the author's name. I remember her face!
I love that!!!
What a great idea! Love this.
Right?! So much fun!! 🤩