Have finally found a use for the #Freewrite Traveller - typing up the rooms of my #dungeon23. Slow process because there's a lot of them but I'm fairly fast at copy typing and don't care about typos at this stage. Also, the sun is bright right now which makes e-ink screens great and normal ones useless.

@whknott

#visualwritingprompt

#ChefPunk
The broth wasn’t right.
The food critic’s review drone would soon fly into the chef’s kitchen, scoop up some soup and beep out a score. The critic only ate the very best. Then they’d award “Morsel of the Month”. It always made its chef XFamous.
Through the bubbling broth the chef swirled a large bushel of chow-brush. He thought of adding a digi-stim to mess with the drone’s sensors, but would be ruined if found out. And cheating himself.
He knew what was needed. An old spice lost since the last crops failed, that used to season every bowl around the world. He’d found some buried in his mother’s pantry.. Saved it for just such a special moment… Pepper.
When the drone arrived it quickly beeped ecstatically, and the chef smiled: the critic was on their way.

#writing #scifi #SF #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompt #SFF #freewrite #MicroFiction #TootFic #SmallStory #SmallStories #FlashFiction #mastoArt #SciFi #illustration #art #game

Writer’s Diary #24: A 21st Century Typewriter
Ezra Klein has a great interview with [Tom Hanks] (https://www.nytimes.com/2023/07/14/opinion/ezra-klein-podcast-tom-hanks.html). It starts with Klein and Hanks talking typewriters. I loved it.

One detail, the custom-made typewriter desk Hanks had built. Another, the fact that he writes a quick letter to his wife, running out the door at
https://www.tubb.ca/2023/07/a-21st-century-typewriter/
#WritersDiary #freewrite #OnWriting #typewriter

these sails were filled with old wind,
nearly forgotten breezes long turned
to stale air hanging heavy in the sagging canvas,
more dragging the ship
hesitantly
through the waves
and less carried in gusts

shake the sand off your feet,
turn out the sails and air out the old memories,
and be open to a new wind

#freeWrite

stale air, always staler, the only thing keeping these fibers from aging to crumbling, well that and a worn, salt-encrusted cork plugging the mouth of this cloudy glass world that bobs among ceaseless blue, split in two as one that moves against the other. the ink inside these rolls seems damned to irrelevancy if ever dry land is even reached.

#freeWrite
#Stray9writes

is this what a hermit crab feels like, between shells? Having finally clawed out of a shell that, while once home, had become a tightening and crushing trap, the crab is both free and exposed. Stiff and creaky and fumbling and not at all adjusted to the wind bare against its whole body, it stumbles, and skitters, and then scrambles over stretches off sand and sea-worn rocks. There is another shell out there, and the last shell was certainly it's own end, but the beach is suddenly a sprawling, sun-glared place.

#freeWrite
#Stray9writes

Thunder hasnt stopped rolling since the storm passed, unbroken by lightning in bolts or even distant flashes, it echoes against half a bright blue sky as the grey keeps moving south. Been dry nearly half an hour and the storm keeps moving away, yet the rumble seems here to stay, persistently and even peaking louder than you thought the loudest could be even ten minutes ago, still it rolls.

#freeWrite
#Stray9writes

sometimes a summer rain is just muggy, heavy and hot and wet too, with the air just trying to break. Sometimes though, the heat and humidity and wind and the distant applause of a million droplets of water cascading around feels like being in the bathroom, with the shower hot and the steam building, where it is safe and secure and the rest of the world is outside of tiled walls and your own tropical micro climate

#freeWrite
#Stray9writes

the end is nigh guy
hasn't been around in a minute
i saw his sandwich sign discarded
with "is nigh" obscured
by hasty paint and some tear stains

#freeWrite
#poetry
#SmallPoems
#shortPoems
#writing

Moved post

every clock is an alarm
some just silently, steadily
warning of the illusion passing;
watch a second hand lap the minute
and hour hands again and again
wake up

#freeWrite
#poetry (ish)

between the neighbor's cherry blossoms
blooming in view just above their roof,
and the pastel violets and pinks
iced in winter's blue night sky,
a mood of melancholy and recollection;
a last chance missed
for faded reasons
and life lost past the sun set.

on the morning coast,
mourning most of what was,
or maybe wasn't, and regardless,
won't be again.

#freeWrite
#poetry (ish)
#writing​​

i got seasick on the River Styx
and Charon threw me overboard;
wearing lifejacket is a funny thing,
when you're post-dead,
and as i bob in the ferry's wake
i wonder if stalling that last sink
has always been my only fate

#freeWrite
#poetry
#writing​

neither the city nor suburbs are quiet
but the 'burbs buzz in a way,
off kilter and hollow between,
that i don't remember hearing in the city
where the thrum is relentless
like the ocean or cicadas waking, and waking

this is more a food disposal grating an empty drain

and one fucking car horn going
like every hotel alarm clock.

#freeWrite
#poetry (ish)
#writing​

neither the city nor suburbs are quiet
but the 'burbs buzz in a way,
off kilter and hollow between,
that i don't remember hearing in the city

a different buzz, incessant there too but
like the ocean and cicadas waking.
This is more a food disposal grating an empty drain

and one fucking car horn going
like every hotel alarm clock.

#freeWrite
#poetry (ish)
#writing​

every clock is an alarm
some just silently, steadily
warning of the illusion passing;
watch a second hand lap the minute
and hour hands again and again
wake up

#freeWrite
#poetry (ish)

we didn't poison the well,
but we all kept drawing from it
and drinking
and sweating
and crying
and leaking back into the same ground
we didn't poison the well
but with it, we poisoned ourselves

#freeWrite
#poetry (ish)
#Stray9writes

just beyond a railing strung in hanging lights, a blip of yellowish-green glow appears in the twilight yard, and then several more, and as my eyes adjust to the waning light beyond, i see them in number; blinking into and out of sight in air that doesn't seem dark enough to aid the disappearing illusion.
i missed seeing lightning bugs.
a summer without lightning bugs is like a night sky with no stars, but in a quieter and less jarring way, so that you don't notice it's missing and start to think the air of summer evenings never sparkled with their dance.

#freeWrite
#Stray9writes

we just call them gulls now,
as they swoop and dive through suburbs and cities
we took the sea from them, why not take it from their name?

#freeWrite
#Stray9writes

a toy to be bored of easily,
a tool that is just in the way
when not being used,
to which layers of rust will be added
in eulogy,
and dings never dinged
will be blamed for the disposal.
as selfish hands, near applause,
shake off the dust and deny their own fingerprints

#freeWrite
#Stray9writes

along these walls i'll build shelves, and on those shelves i'll stack jars; dirty and musty jars, scuffed but not cracked, with screwtop lids that are rusty but still thread tight and i can drain the sloshing sewage into those jars until i am both hollow and empty again, surrounded instead.
But i can leave a room with walls, and shelves, and jars.

#freeWrite
#Stray9writes