Today is Thanksgiving here in the USA. A time to celebrate, give thanks, and meditate on the good we are fortunate to have. I heard someone say "Just about everyone can be thankful for at least 10 things. If you need help, use your fingers to count!"
We, the admins of The One Minute Writer, are so very thankful for you, our Writers, for your enthusiasm, dedication and participation to our blog. Without you, our blog would just be a few words on a computer screen with nothing to do and no meaning. You give our blog life. We certainly hope that it continues to thrive and grow and be a tool that all levels of writers can use to get their "pen" moving for at least One Minute a day!
We hope that you enjoy your families and friends today, along with a great feast (or two). We also hope that you will spend some time GIVING THANKS for the blessings that have been bestowed on you! You can give thanks in the comments or take a break today from writing.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Andrei
Congratulations to Andrei, this week's winner of FFF:Spam! What a great story detailing the ins and outs of the "SPAM Business". A job well done!
The only thing that could make humanity insane is no source of internet or videos. But for the time being, the Russians are doing just that. In Moscow, under Red Square, there is a group of people who would be called hackers, or “spammers.” Their real name is The Ghost Virus. I am just about to enter this elite group of individuals. I have been through specific training, from decoding with Freddy Wong, to playing a game of chess with the President of the United States, and let me tell you, it’s real hard cheating while the men in black are watching your every move. After going through all of this training, I had an opportunity to ask to join the Ghost Virus. One of their top spammers had died due to sever radiation, and being exposed to millions of x-rays and gamma rays. I had just sent the letter in, with my credentials in 2016, and man do they make you wait. It was winter of 2015 and snow had fallen, the mail came, at this point I didn’t expect to get in at all. I just assumed that they thought I was a waste of time, or I wasn’t good enough. It took every last penny I had to travel from Minnesota to Russia, I got there, and it wasn’t a pleasant welcoming. I was hauled away in a black van, bagged, and gagged. I thought this was it; they’d just kill me for no apparent reason. All I remember is going to see the top man, the boss, the one who saw it all. They let me stay, and I’m working to this day. Our facility under Red Square has five divisions. The first divisions is where we do calling and marketing, just like those fake phone calls that you’ll get, you know, the ones that make you give them important info, life their your credit card company or something. Our second division is for our programmers, where everything we do in here helps the rest of Ghost Virus. The third division is for all the hackers, they will go into everything personal, and take what they can, and give nothing back. Now for our forth division, where I work, the spammers; it is the most income generating division we have. I make sure people get sick or seeing the same things over and over again. We also make the programs to stop the pop-ups, back in division two. And the fifth is restricted, but we all know that there is a giant calendar with a giant clock. It’s counting down the time till we can rule the world with charging people to use any electronics. Oh look, the time has reached 00:00, if you wish to continue to type, it will cost you $1 A MIN, otherwise you will be terminated. Thanks, and have a great day.
The only thing that could make humanity insane is no source of internet or videos. But for the time being, the Russians are doing just that. In Moscow, under Red Square, there is a group of people who would be called hackers, or “spammers.” Their real name is The Ghost Virus. I am just about to enter this elite group of individuals. I have been through specific training, from decoding with Freddy Wong, to playing a game of chess with the President of the United States, and let me tell you, it’s real hard cheating while the men in black are watching your every move. After going through all of this training, I had an opportunity to ask to join the Ghost Virus. One of their top spammers had died due to sever radiation, and being exposed to millions of x-rays and gamma rays. I had just sent the letter in, with my credentials in 2016, and man do they make you wait. It was winter of 2015 and snow had fallen, the mail came, at this point I didn’t expect to get in at all. I just assumed that they thought I was a waste of time, or I wasn’t good enough. It took every last penny I had to travel from Minnesota to Russia, I got there, and it wasn’t a pleasant welcoming. I was hauled away in a black van, bagged, and gagged. I thought this was it; they’d just kill me for no apparent reason. All I remember is going to see the top man, the boss, the one who saw it all. They let me stay, and I’m working to this day. Our facility under Red Square has five divisions. The first divisions is where we do calling and marketing, just like those fake phone calls that you’ll get, you know, the ones that make you give them important info, life their your credit card company or something. Our second division is for our programmers, where everything we do in here helps the rest of Ghost Virus. The third division is for all the hackers, they will go into everything personal, and take what they can, and give nothing back. Now for our forth division, where I work, the spammers; it is the most income generating division we have. I make sure people get sick or seeing the same things over and over again. We also make the programs to stop the pop-ups, back in division two. And the fifth is restricted, but we all know that there is a giant calendar with a giant clock. It’s counting down the time till we can rule the world with charging people to use any electronics. Oh look, the time has reached 00:00, if you wish to continue to type, it will cost you $1 A MIN, otherwise you will be terminated. Thanks, and have a great day.
Does anyone see Disqus
OK, thanks to the brilliant suggestion of Jayne Martin, I have attempted to switch the comment system over to Disqus. However, after going through all the steps, I don't see any difference. Is this because I am an admin and seeing it all "special," or has it just not sync'd properly?
Can someone let me know if you see Disqus showing up anywhere instead of the usual comment system?
EDIT: Looks like it isn't showing up so far. Hrmm. I've checked and double checked that everything is in place, but it isn't here. The Disqus dashboard status for TOMW says it "takes 24 hours to import comments." I took this to mean it takes 24 hours to import comments from here to see them on the dashboard over there, but who knows? Maybe it means 24 hours to get it up and running. Since I don't have any other options, I guess we'll wait 24 hours and see. Thanks for the help everyone! You're the best!
Can someone let me know if you see Disqus showing up anywhere instead of the usual comment system?
EDIT: Looks like it isn't showing up so far. Hrmm. I've checked and double checked that everything is in place, but it isn't here. The Disqus dashboard status for TOMW says it "takes 24 hours to import comments." I took this to mean it takes 24 hours to import comments from here to see them on the dashboard over there, but who knows? Maybe it means 24 hours to get it up and running. Since I don't have any other options, I guess we'll wait 24 hours and see. Thanks for the help everyone! You're the best!
OK - I think i got it working
Holy Kittens. I had to actually go in and manually rewrite the HTML to get it up and running, but Disqus should be the default comment system now.
It really should be a better, easier way to leave comments / writing. You should be able to sign in once and be done, with no word verification needed. You should be able to see other's comments easier, as well as links to related comments around the web right in the comment window. You should have more varied, fresher options for signing in, as well.
Comments no longer happen in a pop-up window, which is actually easier. Everything happens on the main page. When you click on the comment link, you will see a comment box for that post at the bottom. The timer will be in the same place on the page it always is. Just click in the box to write your comment. You can sign in via Facebook, Twitter, Google+ / Blogger, or create a new Disqus name if you'd like an anonymous handle. You can follow the conversation if it is interesting or follow writers that you like.
Please send any feedback you have. I know it's new. I'm looking for ways to both keep the spam down AND make the user experience easy on you guys. You can always comment here or email. Thanks for all your patience! - S.
EDIT: Oh! I almost forgot the coolest part! You can now upvote people's writing. I can't tell you how often I read the comments and want to "like" something you guys have written. Well, now we can! Plus what a sweet feeling to submit your one-minute writing and then see that people have voted it up. Major validation for your writing skills! This will be such a fun way to connect as a writing community!
It really should be a better, easier way to leave comments / writing. You should be able to sign in once and be done, with no word verification needed. You should be able to see other's comments easier, as well as links to related comments around the web right in the comment window. You should have more varied, fresher options for signing in, as well.
Comments no longer happen in a pop-up window, which is actually easier. Everything happens on the main page. When you click on the comment link, you will see a comment box for that post at the bottom. The timer will be in the same place on the page it always is. Just click in the box to write your comment. You can sign in via Facebook, Twitter, Google+ / Blogger, or create a new Disqus name if you'd like an anonymous handle. You can follow the conversation if it is interesting or follow writers that you like.
Please send any feedback you have. I know it's new. I'm looking for ways to both keep the spam down AND make the user experience easy on you guys. You can always comment here or email. Thanks for all your patience! - S.
EDIT: Oh! I almost forgot the coolest part! You can now upvote people's writing. I can't tell you how often I read the comments and want to "like" something you guys have written. Well, now we can! Plus what a sweet feeling to submit your one-minute writing and then see that people have voted it up. Major validation for your writing skills! This will be such a fun way to connect as a writing community!
Ariadne
Congrats to the winner of this week's FFF, Ariadne!
AriadneAranea is from the wetlands of Gloucestershire (that's in south-west England), where she spends her days doing unromantic things in an office and her nights in a whirlwind of the imagination. She dabbles in many things, writes whatever inspiration brings, and will happily welcome all comers to her blog at http://ariadnearanea.wordpress.com/ .
There were some truly excellent entries for this week's FFF (check out Paul Owen's bass player in the comments!) but I was really impressed with Ariadne's smooth writing style. She uses the first person well, something that can be difficult for writers to master; and she really centers the reader in the middle of this eerie sci-fi scenario. It's totally different than what I was expecting with this prompt, and I love it!
Here's her entry:
I am sweating. I’m trying not to sweat because I know what the consequences might be.
If they twig just how alien I am – I don’t want to think about it. A cold, spiky itch starts on my back, but I’m still hot. When I fell in that lake, the circuitry on my travel suit must have blown, or something. How am I supposed to know how it all works? All I can tell you is that the cooling has given out, and this is the hottest I have been in a long time.
The officer comes for me. I am used to the sight of these people now, with their alligator skin, silvery like the moon, and their light, gauzy tunics. She seems friendly enough, I suppose, but I can’t quite warm to them. In my mind they are still invaders, usurpers. They are in occupation.
That doesn’t matter now. I am the one who is under the radar and I must comply. I am winging it, because the translation kit has packed up too, and the calm voice in my ear has stopped dropping those cultural navigation hints that were so annoying until they were gone.
She touches my shoulder as she guides me out of the cell and a strange look crosses her face. Confusion, I think. Dangerous! She speaks to me, and the language might as well be whale song. I have no idea. Her expression is almost human – motherly, even – and she touches my shoulder again. The sweat is evaporating through my damp suit. I hope my dip in the lake is enough of an explanation for that and then I wonder if they will think I’m just ill. I see immediately how stupid that idea is. No matter how ill you are, you can’t sweat if you don’t have the glands.
She gestures at her own tunic and at last I realise that she’s offering to bring me dry clothes. I shake my head and skitter away, trying not to look scared. They mustn't see.
I follow her to what I think must be an interrogation room. There is another officer there. This one is smaller, and I decide that he must be a man. He is wearing the same weightless tunic that everyone wears, that even I’m wearing. As I sit down, I catch sight of myself, reflected in the small window behind the officers. I have not seen a mirror since I first left my ship a fortnight ago and I stare at the strange image. I am surprised to be reminded that I am reptilian, too.
The man begins to speak. We rely so much these days on translation tech that nobody really bothers to learn other languages – not even human ones, let alone anything else. I find myself bitterly regretting it as the two officers began to question me and I am forced to play dumb. An idiot, even a foreign one, might be released as too much trouble. An off-world human? Never.
Eventually one of them fetches a kind of tablet, supplementing speech and gestures with images scribbled or downloaded onto the screen. They want to know where I came from, where my papers are. I shrug, as expansively and expressively as I can. The papers disappeared into the lake, but I don’t know how to explain. They were faked anyway.
The officers are patient, and even with those gaping sharp-toothed grins they seem almost gentle. But they soon realise that they’re wasting their time. They don’t know what to do with me. The man takes me back to the cell and gestures for me to stay there. As if I have a choice.
The door closes and I put my head in my hands. I’m so hot I can barely think.
Gran was right. I should never have come. All I wanted was the chance to see my home planet. A pilgrimage, I said. Like the Hajj, or something. And it nearly worked. I was on my way home, on my way back to the ship when I lost my footing and slipped into the simmering water. Even then, I’d have been alright if I hadn't fallen so close to that boat.
I feel now how utterly stranded I am. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.
AriadneAranea is from the wetlands of Gloucestershire (that's in south-west England), where she spends her days doing unromantic things in an office and her nights in a whirlwind of the imagination. She dabbles in many things, writes whatever inspiration brings, and will happily welcome all comers to her blog at http://ariadnearanea.wordpress.com/ .
There were some truly excellent entries for this week's FFF (check out Paul Owen's bass player in the comments!) but I was really impressed with Ariadne's smooth writing style. She uses the first person well, something that can be difficult for writers to master; and she really centers the reader in the middle of this eerie sci-fi scenario. It's totally different than what I was expecting with this prompt, and I love it!
Here's her entry:
I am sweating. I’m trying not to sweat because I know what the consequences might be.
If they twig just how alien I am – I don’t want to think about it. A cold, spiky itch starts on my back, but I’m still hot. When I fell in that lake, the circuitry on my travel suit must have blown, or something. How am I supposed to know how it all works? All I can tell you is that the cooling has given out, and this is the hottest I have been in a long time.
The officer comes for me. I am used to the sight of these people now, with their alligator skin, silvery like the moon, and their light, gauzy tunics. She seems friendly enough, I suppose, but I can’t quite warm to them. In my mind they are still invaders, usurpers. They are in occupation.
That doesn’t matter now. I am the one who is under the radar and I must comply. I am winging it, because the translation kit has packed up too, and the calm voice in my ear has stopped dropping those cultural navigation hints that were so annoying until they were gone.
She touches my shoulder as she guides me out of the cell and a strange look crosses her face. Confusion, I think. Dangerous! She speaks to me, and the language might as well be whale song. I have no idea. Her expression is almost human – motherly, even – and she touches my shoulder again. The sweat is evaporating through my damp suit. I hope my dip in the lake is enough of an explanation for that and then I wonder if they will think I’m just ill. I see immediately how stupid that idea is. No matter how ill you are, you can’t sweat if you don’t have the glands.
She gestures at her own tunic and at last I realise that she’s offering to bring me dry clothes. I shake my head and skitter away, trying not to look scared. They mustn't see.
I follow her to what I think must be an interrogation room. There is another officer there. This one is smaller, and I decide that he must be a man. He is wearing the same weightless tunic that everyone wears, that even I’m wearing. As I sit down, I catch sight of myself, reflected in the small window behind the officers. I have not seen a mirror since I first left my ship a fortnight ago and I stare at the strange image. I am surprised to be reminded that I am reptilian, too.
The man begins to speak. We rely so much these days on translation tech that nobody really bothers to learn other languages – not even human ones, let alone anything else. I find myself bitterly regretting it as the two officers began to question me and I am forced to play dumb. An idiot, even a foreign one, might be released as too much trouble. An off-world human? Never.
Eventually one of them fetches a kind of tablet, supplementing speech and gestures with images scribbled or downloaded onto the screen. They want to know where I came from, where my papers are. I shrug, as expansively and expressively as I can. The papers disappeared into the lake, but I don’t know how to explain. They were faked anyway.
The officers are patient, and even with those gaping sharp-toothed grins they seem almost gentle. But they soon realise that they’re wasting their time. They don’t know what to do with me. The man takes me back to the cell and gestures for me to stay there. As if I have a choice.
The door closes and I put my head in my hands. I’m so hot I can barely think.
Gran was right. I should never have come. All I wanted was the chance to see my home planet. A pilgrimage, I said. Like the Hajj, or something. And it nearly worked. I was on my way home, on my way back to the ship when I lost my footing and slipped into the simmering water. Even then, I’d have been alright if I hadn't fallen so close to that boat.
I feel now how utterly stranded I am. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.
Highlights
Happy New Year and our best wishes for a joyful and successful 2017 to you all!
We thought it would be fun, as we celebrate our first New Year's as admin here at The One-Minute Writer and are feeling reflective, to celebrate some of the great flash fiction written by readers this year. With that in mind, we each chose some of our favorite FFF entries. For various reasons they may not have won (Can I just say, more often than not, I would have loved to see a specific piece win but I had no way of contacting the author! Leave me an email address or website link if you write so well!) but each is a wonderful read.
Starting with Abbey's choices...
Here are a few highlights from FFF of 2016.These are submissions that didn't win, but are definitely worth mentioning!
Here is one from Karma Girl in response to the prompt "The Belt Buckle and the Necktie"
The pants were starting to fall around his knees. The starvation diet was finally working but this pantsless life was not going to win him any friends.
"I'll use my neck tie!" he exclaimed much to the annoyance of the other passengers on the train.
Here is what Hank Greer said in response to this prompt: "Before or After" in which the writer responded to the story by writing what led up to my story or what came next.
The mechanic didn't need to say anything. The look on his face was enough.
"Ma'am, your car is not drivable and it'll take a week to special order the parts. I'm sorry, but working on a Studebaker is pretty rare around here."
"But," she said. "Isn't there any way to fix it now? I'm on my way to an important meeting."
He shook his head. "I'm sorry."
"How could this happen now?" It was more a rhetorical question expressing her exasperation.
The mechanic thought he was being helpful. "I imagine the noise came on gradually and you just got used to it and didn't notice it. How long have you had this car?"
"Twenty-seven years."
"Well, it's a real beaut," he said. "It's a shame it broke down now. Where do you have to go? I can call you a taxi."
Her gloom deepened and she began to choke up. "For four hundred and seventy-nine miles?"
"I can give you a ride to get a rental."
"I don't want to leave my car and I need to go."
He thought for a moment. "Listen, why don't you go across the street and get a cup of coffee. Let me make some calls. Let me see if I can get the parts here faster, okay?"
The cold, blustery wind pushed a tear across her temple as she crossed the street. She wiped it away with a finger. Taking her seat, she pulled two carefully folded sheets of paper from her purse and spread them open, her still wet finger tip smudging the "TRUE" in the page's header, "FIND YOUR ONE TRUE LOVE.com". She stared hard at the photo of the man she was on her way to meet.
"But my car," she thought.
Here is what Amber had to say about the prompt: "It's a Mystery" (a mysterious gift shows up at your door, who is it from? where did it come from?)
It is another quiet, rainy day in the Midwest. The fire is crackling in the fireplace and I am curled up on the couch with a good book. Out of nowhere, a loud noise emanates from outside. It is a wail that penetrates my very soul, causing me to fly off of the couch in a startled leap towards the door. I thrust it open expecting to find a wounded animal, but instead there is a beautifully wrapped gift sitting on the mat. The wail stops suddenly when I pick the package up. Puzzled, I carry the present inside out of the cold and place it on the table. The crying begins again so I rip off the paper and open the box. Inside is a small child with curly blond hair. I am extremely puzzled. Where did she come from? What should I do? I pick the baby up and find an envelope under her blanket. As I sit down to rock her I open the envelope and find a handwritten note:
“You have prayed for a child to call your own for a very long time. Sometimes you must remember that my timing is perfect. Here is an angel just for you. Raise her, love her, care for her, and guide her as she grows.”
I am at a loss for words. Who would have ever guessed that my prayers would be answered in the form of a beautiful Christmas box? Every Christmas we no longer pay attention to the presents or the ornaments, but to what truly matters. Our Christmas miracle reminds us to always have faith even when we cannot see how our prayers will be answered.
And Sonnet's choices:
This is Annie's contribution to last week's prompt, "Memento."
We thought it would be fun, as we celebrate our first New Year's as admin here at The One-Minute Writer and are feeling reflective, to celebrate some of the great flash fiction written by readers this year. With that in mind, we each chose some of our favorite FFF entries. For various reasons they may not have won (Can I just say, more often than not, I would have loved to see a specific piece win but I had no way of contacting the author! Leave me an email address or website link if you write so well!) but each is a wonderful read.
Starting with Abbey's choices...
Here are a few highlights from FFF of 2016.These are submissions that didn't win, but are definitely worth mentioning!
Here is one from Karma Girl in response to the prompt "The Belt Buckle and the Necktie"
The pants were starting to fall around his knees. The starvation diet was finally working but this pantsless life was not going to win him any friends.
"I'll use my neck tie!" he exclaimed much to the annoyance of the other passengers on the train.
Here is what Hank Greer said in response to this prompt: "Before or After" in which the writer responded to the story by writing what led up to my story or what came next.
The mechanic didn't need to say anything. The look on his face was enough.
"Ma'am, your car is not drivable and it'll take a week to special order the parts. I'm sorry, but working on a Studebaker is pretty rare around here."
"But," she said. "Isn't there any way to fix it now? I'm on my way to an important meeting."
He shook his head. "I'm sorry."
"How could this happen now?" It was more a rhetorical question expressing her exasperation.
The mechanic thought he was being helpful. "I imagine the noise came on gradually and you just got used to it and didn't notice it. How long have you had this car?"
"Twenty-seven years."
"Well, it's a real beaut," he said. "It's a shame it broke down now. Where do you have to go? I can call you a taxi."
Her gloom deepened and she began to choke up. "For four hundred and seventy-nine miles?"
"I can give you a ride to get a rental."
"I don't want to leave my car and I need to go."
He thought for a moment. "Listen, why don't you go across the street and get a cup of coffee. Let me make some calls. Let me see if I can get the parts here faster, okay?"
The cold, blustery wind pushed a tear across her temple as she crossed the street. She wiped it away with a finger. Taking her seat, she pulled two carefully folded sheets of paper from her purse and spread them open, her still wet finger tip smudging the "TRUE" in the page's header, "FIND YOUR ONE TRUE LOVE.com". She stared hard at the photo of the man she was on her way to meet.
"But my car," she thought.
Here is what Amber had to say about the prompt: "It's a Mystery" (a mysterious gift shows up at your door, who is it from? where did it come from?)
It is another quiet, rainy day in the Midwest. The fire is crackling in the fireplace and I am curled up on the couch with a good book. Out of nowhere, a loud noise emanates from outside. It is a wail that penetrates my very soul, causing me to fly off of the couch in a startled leap towards the door. I thrust it open expecting to find a wounded animal, but instead there is a beautifully wrapped gift sitting on the mat. The wail stops suddenly when I pick the package up. Puzzled, I carry the present inside out of the cold and place it on the table. The crying begins again so I rip off the paper and open the box. Inside is a small child with curly blond hair. I am extremely puzzled. Where did she come from? What should I do? I pick the baby up and find an envelope under her blanket. As I sit down to rock her I open the envelope and find a handwritten note:
“You have prayed for a child to call your own for a very long time. Sometimes you must remember that my timing is perfect. Here is an angel just for you. Raise her, love her, care for her, and guide her as she grows.”
I am at a loss for words. Who would have ever guessed that my prayers would be answered in the form of a beautiful Christmas box? Every Christmas we no longer pay attention to the presents or the ornaments, but to what truly matters. Our Christmas miracle reminds us to always have faith even when we cannot see how our prayers will be answered.
And Sonnet's choices:
This is Annie's contribution to last week's prompt, "Memento."
Graciegreen
Congrats to the winner of this week's FFF, Graciegreen!
Graciegreen is grandmother of 10 under 10 (wow!.) She says: "My life as a retired educator is an adventure! I have been a oneminutewriter for years because a minute is so manageable!" You can check out her blog at fromtheoldfrontporch.blogspot.com.
I appreciate her ability to really grasp the suddenness of timeless events. Major catastrophes, such as the bombing of Pearl Harbor, never happen in a vacuum, they happen in the middle of people's lives. What would that be like? The one-minute piece shows that off in a intensely opaque way. It's beautiful. Great job, Graciegreen!
Here's her entry:
Lining a drawer in an antique dresser a fragile, yellowed paper caught my eye. The names of several of my husband's relatives were printed boldly in an old fashioned typeface. Martha was at home in Isabella. She was visited by many friends and neighbors to celebrate her housewarming. Fancy food was served and useful gifts received. I turned the tissue thin paper over and read the lurid headline of the day. JAPANESE BOMB PEARL HARBOR! I wonder what my young mother-in-law felt on this day that would live on in infamy...
Graciegreen is grandmother of 10 under 10 (wow!.) She says: "My life as a retired educator is an adventure! I have been a oneminutewriter for years because a minute is so manageable!" You can check out her blog at fromtheoldfrontporch.blogspot.com.
I appreciate her ability to really grasp the suddenness of timeless events. Major catastrophes, such as the bombing of Pearl Harbor, never happen in a vacuum, they happen in the middle of people's lives. What would that be like? The one-minute piece shows that off in a intensely opaque way. It's beautiful. Great job, Graciegreen!
Here's her entry:
Lining a drawer in an antique dresser a fragile, yellowed paper caught my eye. The names of several of my husband's relatives were printed boldly in an old fashioned typeface. Martha was at home in Isabella. She was visited by many friends and neighbors to celebrate her housewarming. Fancy food was served and useful gifts received. I turned the tissue thin paper over and read the lurid headline of the day. JAPANESE BOMB PEARL HARBOR! I wonder what my young mother-in-law felt on this day that would live on in infamy...
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