A Character Guest Blog

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Amie Fish

written by lucinda e. clarke

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Dear JA, I happened to be passing her laptop when I saw your email and I have to admit I feel extremely hurt. Why oh, why did you ask her to write something when I have a much better story to tell?

There is no comparison to her boring life when mine has been so exciting, well some might think that, but to be honest, she’s put me through so much hell, I’d leave her if I could.

I was quite happy living near London close to my family and friends, but then she packed me off to Africa with my new husband, just when I’d planned out the rest of my life. OK, so I settled down and it wasn’t too bad, except she had me out with a video camera recording all kinds of daft things including – wait for it – a massacre which was indescribably awful. Then, she creates a civil war and I’m right there in the middle of it. Everyone else had been flown out to safety and I get thrown in jail. I simply can’t describe how ghastly that was. So, I get free and then have to make a run for it. Yes, she sends me out into the bush with a few bottles of water and minimal food how cruel is that?

Was she finished? Not a bit of it. Not content with that in book 2 she has me searching for my foster child who just happens to have been captured by a radicalized terrorist group.

She has a nasty habit of killing off all the people I love, and blows up my house and I lose everything, and I mean everything, even my name and my identity. (You do know Lucinda E Clarke isn’t her real name, don’t you? Well she changes mine as well and didn’t even consult me).

The brutality continues as I’m dragged off to intercept arms smugglers and end up perched on the edge of a tank full of sharks with the biggest teeth you have ever seen.

And that reminds me. The humans I meet are dangerous enough, but let’s not forget my close encounters with lions, crocodiles, hippos, snakes and practically everything that’s dangerous on the African continent.

And where is this paragon of virtue all this time you ask? Sitting comfortably at her dining room table tapping on her laptop without a care in the world. She pauses every now and again to hatch up another dangerous plot, kill off another friend I’ve made – she has such a nasty habit of doing that – and then waddles off to replenish her coffee (she makes two mugs at a time) and grab a chocolate bar from the fridge. Apparently, this is the diet that helps her brainstorm yet more appalling scenarios. And what am I doing? I’m slogging through the bush, with the sweat pouring down my face stinging my eyes, my shirt sticking to me, every muscle is aching and my tongue is swelling in my mouth because I’ve not had a drop of water all day.

I’ve tried to talk to her, I really have, but her only response is that people don’t want to read about boring day to day lives when nothing exciting ever happens. She throws words around like ‘cliff-hanger’, ‘nail-biting’, ‘on the edge of your seat stuff’, but between you and me, I think she’s the boring one and it would be a total waste of time to let her loose on your blog.

So, as soon as I’ve finished this, with all respect, I’m going to delete your invite, she won’t notice right now as she’s won yet another award (yes, for torturing me) and she’s busy on her iPad tweeting it to the world.

If you hear of any organization which will fight for the rights of the downtrodden, helpless heroes and heroines caught in the dark recesses of the writers’ mind, I would love to join. I’m familiar with human rights but what about character rights? No one ever considers us.

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Yours miserably,

Amie Fish

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When it comes to me talking about me and my books I’m a disaster! Do I mention being abandoned in the African bush with a 9 week-old baby? That I’ve lived in 8 countries, in a mansion, a one bed flat and on a boat? Meeting kings, presidents, international artists and peasants? Earning my living by writing after I got fired from my teaching post? Or what about that live radio broadcast with a bayonet digging into my neck?

I ran the very Worst Riding School in the world, and presented on radio and had my own video production company, with dozens of tales about some of the famous people I’ve met including Mandela. The problem is there is so much it took 3 books to put it all down on paper and that’s only the bits I remember.

Officially, I’m retired now. Not a chance, I’m only pretending while working 24/7 writing books, 8 to date, and wrestling with the marketing world.  Once I make the first million or five I’ll be off sailing round the world scribbling on my mega yacht, but that’s never going to happen.

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Lucinda E. Clarke

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You can meet up with Lucinda here:

Web page – http://lucindaeclarkeauthor.com

Blog link  http://lucindaeclarke.wordpress.com

twitter name  https://twitter.com/LucindaEClarke

I have a free novella myBook.to/WRS

https://www.books2read.com/u/bw8May

Newsletter sign up: http://eepurl.com/c-GqWr 

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Advertisement

Guest Post by Allison Maruska

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The Biggest Killer of Creativity

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First, I want to thank Jenny for hosting the Sunday Scribbles Challenge and for opening up her blog space for wee scribblers like me. I hope I can do this awesome blog justice.

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Now, let’s talk about creativity – and specifically about what kills it (for the purposes of this post, creativity refers to both the act of literally creating something and to sharing our already-created work with the outside world). As creative types, we need to know what hazards lie ahead so we can avoid them.

Unfortunately, this killer isn’t something we can avoid entirely. In fact, it’s one we likely face on a daily basis.

I’ve recently started reading Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert. In it, she outlines qualities creative types must have in order to create, including enchantment, trust, and persistence. But the first quality she discusses is courage.

That means not being afraid, because as she says:

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…when courage dies, creativity dies with it. We all know that fear is a desolate boneyard where our dreams go to desiccate in the hot sun.

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She goes on to list 27 fears we face as we strive to live more creative lives, including fear of rejection, fear that we don’t have enough training, and fear that our work isn’t important enough to put out there. The easy advice would be to simply say everyone has fears so either suck it up and create anyway or go do something else.

Here’s the thing, though: Fears are real. They aren’t silly, irrational things we’re taught to ignore (for the most part). Fears keep us alive – we don’t run into traffic because of the fear of getting smashed by a MACK truck.

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Beep Beep!

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But fear can also be paralyzing if we let it.

My bestselling novel was *this close* to being shoved under a mattress because of fear. After I got some bad feedback from a critique partner, I knew if I let anyone read it, one of two things would happen: 1. They would hate it and ridicule it mercilessly, or 2. No one would read it at all.

That’s right. I was afraid people would read it or not read it.

It took another, much wiser writing partner to talk me back off that ledge. I went on to self-publish the book and it sold twenty thousand copies in its first year.

And it wasn’t ridiculed mercilessly.

In her most recent flash fiction challenge post, Charli Mills says this (emphasis mine):

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It’s not that fear itself is so bad. Fear is a warning — proceed with caution; be safe. Entrepreneurs and artists take calculated risks — they strategize to overcome doubt and fear to do or create something new. Fear is best acknowledged, not justified. It’s fear justified that skews thinking and actions.

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Acknowledgement says, “Yes, this is a real fear that I have.” Justification says, “And because of it, I will or won’t do this.” Justification gives fear more credit and weight than it deserves.

I published my novel while carrying the fears that it would be poorly reviewed or not read. My wise writing partner even said, “Yes, those things could happen.” We acknowledged those fears and proceeded anyway. And you know what? Those things did happen! It got some bad reviews and I can’t get most of my own family to read it (among many others, I’m sure). But it also has lots of good reviews and fans anxiously waiting for the standalone sequel, which is now in revisions.

Fear is part of the creative process. Hell, it’s in every freaking step of it. If creativity is the Yin, fear is the Yang.

That doesn’t mean fear gets to kill our creativity. In fact, pressing on after acknowledging our fears makes having created and shared our work that much sweeter.

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What fears do you face when creating? How do you overcome them?

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Allison Maruska is the author of mystery, suspense, and YA novels, a humor blogger, former teacher, mom, wife, coffee and wine consumer, and owl enthusiast. Find her on her blog, Facebook, Twitter, and Amazon.

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Lovingly He Held Her Head Underwater

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A Guest Blog by Juliet Nubel

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For the last few Sunday mornings, when Jenny’s Scribble Challenge email lands in my inbox after a short flight across the Atlantic Ocean, I have opened it and laughed.

What would I possibly have to write about A Mother’s Twisted Love when my own mother unquestionably loves every square inch of my body and soul? An hour later, after getting my shoes out of the cupboard under the stairs I had the creepy idea of a child being tied up and locked away.

Phobias? I don’t have any phobias, I boasted to the cats, the only ones who actually listen to me around here. Bang on cue, a wasp flew into the kitchen through the open door and my declaration flew out the window. I don’t just have a phobia of wasps, I have a debilitating and ferocious fear.

But when I opened the third week’s Scribble email I actually snorted in disbelief. A six word story with a twist? For heaven’s sake Jenny, we’re not miracle workers! But my brain doesn’t know that, so it got down to its current job of scrabbling around in the heaps of words living up there and it finally found something that I was happy with. As happy as an unknown, unconfident, part-time, baby writer can be: “Lovingly he held her head underwater.”

The fact that we were at that precise moment on holiday on the beautiful Italian island of Sicily, that there were two monstrous, sparkling swimming pools on the complex, edged by two sandy beaches, both lapped by the turquoise Mediterranean Sea, may have helped my hand a little.So that done and dusted, wiped around the edges (which doesn’t take long when there are only six words to wipe) I posted it and promptly forgot all about it, as we went off to play.

When we returned to our room much later that evening I found my pet iPad waiting patiently by the bed, proudly showing me a comment from Hugh’s Views and News in response to my entry.

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“I wonder if he was doing it for goodness, rather than for evil?” he asked innocently.

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And that, Hugh, is when you had me. How could I possibly not answer your question? A vague idea of why my character was doing this was swirling around when I put together the six words for the challenge. But you deserved a longer and better explanation. So my brain started its digging again. All the way back in the coach from a wonderful historical day trip, it poked around and pulled out words to string together to complete the story.

The result is below. It is for you Hugh, and for anyone else who may be interested in reading the follow-up to my one-liner. It is nothing like my usual chatty blog style but hey, I can wear a new hat if I want to.

And it is for you too, Jenny. You who, for some inexplicable reason, started following my blog one day, a couple of months ago. When I clicked on yours it was admiration at first sight. Thank you for inspiring me with your words and thank you for inciting me to write my own.

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Lovingly He Held Her Head Underwater

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His large, work-roughened hands shook hard, however, as he pushed down on her grey-tinged hair until the bubbles from her nose and mouth finally stopped rising. The flash of gold from his wedding band shining up through the ripples, reminded him of what he was actually doing – wilfully drowning his beautiful, beloved wife.

He would have preferred to see her eyes one last time instead of the back of her head, but he knew that if those clear, grey jewels had been looking up at him through the water he would never be able to go through with it. He would pull her out, gasping for breath, cover her with kisses and swear he had made the biggest mistake of his entire life.

Her eyes. They had melted his heart all those years ago and they still did. They seemed to change colour without warning, wavering between gold-flecked green and pale Caribbean blue. Sometimes when the weather was bad they turned to flint, reflecting the clouds racing overhead, the tiny gold specks changing to light silvery sparkles.
For almost a year now they had also betrayed her mood, becoming a dark, secretive hue he had never seen before. A colour he disliked and mistrusted. This sombre shade brought on by another man, surely. Someone she saw regularly who made her return home to him as flustered and perturbed as a teenage girl.

He had followed her one day when his doubts had gotten the better of him, and had watched her walking through a high, wooden door in the centre of town, using a code she must have been given for quick, easy access. The sight of her guilty step made vomit rise in his throat and hot tears run down his weathered cheeks.

And now she wanted to go. She had told him everything. Every last detail, every sordid secret she had held for months was now revealed in a bright, blinding light.

‘I will never accept!’ he had screamed at her, louder than ever before during the thousands of days they had spent together.

‘You must’, was all she replied, her pastel eyes now begging like a hungry pup.

For weeks he had tried to dissuade her. At times he used sweet, gentle cajoling. At others deep, unbridled anger. Neither worked, and slowly he realised that she really meant what she had said. She needed to go, desperate to be set free at last.

His decision finally came one night as he lay beside her in bed, his arms wrapped around her frail body like thick chains.

‘I have always respected your wishes’, he announced. ‘You can go now.’

The depth of gratitude in her tired smile broke his heart into a thousand pointed shards, each one piercing his body and soul as he inhaled her scent deeply to memorise it for the rest of his life.

‘Thank you, my love’ she answered, her cancer-ridden voice much quieter now than before. ‘And just promise me that even if I start to struggle, you will keep pushing down as hard as you possibly can.’

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Did you know?

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There’s still time to participate in the FINAL Scribble Challenge of the season! Head on over to #SSC 15 to submit your response to the prompt for your chance to win a guest blog here, on Scribbles on Cocktail Napkins.

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Hey, YOU!

Don’t forget to pop by DanAlatorre.com this Sunday for a whole NEW guest blog from Juliet Nubel.

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Mayor Maynot

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Guest Post by Ward Clever

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Hi. I’m Ward Clever, a blogger type person.

According to my About Page that I just read, I’m a work of fiction come to life, a whore who can touch unicorns, a ghost manifest, a sensitive empath with a dark side, a watcher of the skies, a healer of healers, a lovable asshole, a guy who writes a nice bio.

Welcome to this thing. I am a little teapot, and I put my whole self in and shake it all about. That’s what it’s all about.

I’m a struggling romance addict, lover of visual kei, and I occasionally speak in other languages. Sarcasm, metaphors, hai, yatta, ayamachi ni obore. Oyasumi,  oiche mhaith, tsai chen, bon nuit, buenas noches, and good night. I won’t explain myself, and I won’t stop ’til I get enough. But that’s all, because enough is plenty.

Here’s a little story about Mayor Maynot, called Mayor Maynot. He had an adventure, I guess, and this is it:

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There once was a woman named David. But that was only once, so why bother talking about it? You know?

There once was a town called Malice. The town hated that name, and preferred to be called Sharon. And the town down the road was called Bob, which it liked, so it was cool with being called Bob. Well, it wasn’t long, like 15 minutes, before a town sprung up between them called Alike. This town wasn’t anthropomorphic, so it wasn’t sapient enough to give a shit what it was called. I think it would have enjoyed being called Alike, though.

Alike had a mayor. The mayor was Mayor Maynot. He spoke sort of like a pirate. Once people from Sharon came into the office and asked him “Who is in charge of this town?”

He said “I, Mayor Maynot, be in charge of this town.”

“Well are you, or are you not, in charge of this town?”

“Aye, I, Mayor Maynot, be in charge of this town Alike.”

“You can’t just be in charge because you like it.”

“Alike, it, this town, that I, Mayor Maynot, be in charge of.”

“Well, whether you like it is irrelevant. All we want to know is who is in charge of it.”

“Alike, the town?”

“I think so. You just said you did. Who is in charge of the town Alike.”

“I don’t be knowin’ what town you like, but Alike, this town, aye, I, Mayor Maynot, be in charge.”

“So if… but you said… I didn’t tell… aw, fuck it. We’re claiming this town in the name of Sharon!”

“Who be Shar-”

Just then, or maybe a few minutes later, actually, because Mayor Maynot paused to get a drink of something that Mayor Maynot be callin’ grog, there were some people from Bob who barged in the door. This was quite difficult, because the nearest water that could float a barge was 47 miles away, and that was just in a parade that celebrated the Loudest Cupcake Firecracker Rhubarb Turnover. But somehow, they managed.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Well, it is a specific pronoun denoting something close to the speaker, as opposed to ‘that’, which would denote something a bit less clo-”

“No, I mean, or we mean, depending on how many people from Bob there are in this part of the story, this, denoting the fuck that is going on here.”

“OH, that. Well, we are from Sharon, and we have claimed Alike for our own. So, good day, and have a nice life.”

“Not so fast!”

“Fine. Oh…that. Well… we… are… from… Sharon-“

“No, your speaking speed was fine. I mean, your actions are premature. Who is in charge of this town?”

“I, Mayor Maynot, be in charge of this town, Alike.”

“It’s good that you like the town, but you should be a bit more definitive on who is in charge.”

“Alike, I said, I, aye, Mayor Maynot, be in charge of.”

“Crap. Has he been saying this all day?”

“Yeah, I can’t get anything else out of him. Anyway, we the people of Sharon claim this town. We’re annexing it. That means joining it with ours.”

“I thought ‘annex’ was that thing that holds up your head.”

“Nope, definitely the taking over thing. It’s ours. It belongs to Sharon.”

Just then, Mayor Maynot realized that there was a barge, and being a pirate, he got a bit of the sea in his shorts.

“I be givin you the town Alike on two conditions.”

“Okay, what are they” both sides asked him without a question mark. Wow, that is a fucking good trick!

“One, Bob, ye be giving me that barge, so that I may once again set sail or whatever ye set with a barge, what, a pole?”

“Yes, something like that” said the person or people from Bob. “But what’s in it for us?”
“Me second condition be fer ye.”

“What’s your second condition?” asked the people from Sharon.

“Sharon, share Alike.”

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If you like that, then visit my blog for depressing poetry. And a few more things like that, of course.

WardClever.wordpress.com

And maybe buy a friend’s book? Not to be all promotional. Here’s that:

Edward Hotspur – Scenes From A Hundred Morning Drives

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DID YOU KNOW:

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Ward won the opportunity to guest blog on Scribbles on Cocktail Napkins by winning one of our Weekly Scribble Challenges. YOU can win the chance to guest post here too! Just click #SSC on the toolbar above to check out the final prompt for this season. Participation is quick and easy, and a great way to procrastinate interact with your writing peers. 

Flash fiction challenges fuel creativity. They’re a relatively painless pool for writers who’ve never posted their work to wet those feet, OR for established authors/bloggers to pick up a few new readers.

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So, what are YOU waiting for? This week’s challenge wraps up Saturday. Unleash your writerly self.

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It’s Not Over Till It’s Over

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Guest Post by Allie Potts

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It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

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No, I am not referring to a tale of two cities. I am referring to the last days of the school year. The time of year when it takes more than my usual powers of persuasion to convince my children it is bedtime on a school night when we all know full well that lessons are wrapping up and the sun still shines outside. But wrapping up does not mean over and it would seem my son’s teacher was not yet done with him.

The written word is a lovely form of communication under normal circumstances, but I don’t believe I can accurately describe exactly how hard I am laughing now at what would later be classified as ‘fun.’

The school would host an economic fair. Each student was then tasked with creating a product, setting a pricing strategy, and creating a marketing campaign including a sales poster. The only limitation was the products couldn’t just be bought and resold. They had to be painstakingly crafted. Okay, so the assignment didn’t specially say painstakingly, but this wasn’t my first school project – there would be pain.

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2 weeks before due date

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Kiddo, my eldest son, pondered and pondered what his product might be. “Bookmarks!” he declared.

Ah, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. “Okay, let’s make a prototype,” I offered. We flipped through a book of origami designs (a hobby of mine). “How about this one?” I asked, pointing at a fairly basic braid-looking design. Kiddo got to work while I tried making one too.

Kiddo looked at his. Kiddo looked at mine. “Mine doesn’t look like yours.”

“That’s okay. That’s why we practice.” I picked up my bookmark. Though my fold lines were crisp and clean, the paper braid was already coming undone. There was no way the kids in his school were going to buy either sample. “Or we pick something else to try.”

Kiddo nodded, but promptly ran off and forgot all about it.

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1.5 weeks before due date

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I’d finished tucking in LT, my younger not-quite-school-aged son, and was coming to check in on Kiddo. Normally he reads to me before bed, but this time, rather than being in bed as I expected, I found him on seated by his father on the floor, engrossed in a library book on robotics. It was the picture of cuteness. What can I say? The geek flag flies high at our home.

Later, Kiddo announced that he’d figured out his product. He’d build scrubber bots. Even better, his dad would help. I shared a look with my husband who grinned and agreed. All they needed was some toothbrushes, some vibrator motors from old cell phones (it’s the part that shakes your phone when it is on mute), and a battery. It would be easy. Whatever you say…

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1 week before due date

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I came home to find an excited Kiddo and a functioning scrubber bot. Consider me shocked. I guess it was easy after all. “You are going to sell out of these.” I looked at my husband, who was as proud of himself as he was Kiddo. I guess they wouldn’t need me after all. “I hope you have enough parts,” was all I could say.

And parts they had. Our dentist office donated toothbrushes. Our friends and family donated old phones. Soon my dining room table was covered in bits of scrap paper, wires, and electrical tools. The Potts guys had taken the assignment and run with it. No mom required. A first. Not wanting to stand in their way, I went out and purchased poster supplies.

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48 hours before due date

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The glue on the poster proclaiming the availability of the next must have toy of the century had long dried when the tone in the dining room shifted. A series of unfortunate events during assembly had rendered more than half the components non-functional. We learned the hard way that while there are half a dozen arts and craft stores within a five-mile radius, there are very few places to purchase electrical components except online. It’s almost as if there isn’t a market anymore for tinkers and hobbyists.

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14 hours before due date

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Kiddo greeted me at the door. “We’ve decided we need to come up with something else.”

And like that, we were suddenly on MOMCON-2.

Navigating my way through the debris that was once my dining room table, I found the hubby scrolling through Pinterest. Stand aside soldier, I thought. We’ve long since passed the point of Pinterest. Jumping to my barked orders, the poster board was cleared as Kiddo changed his branding and slashed his pricing strategy. Googly eyes, plastic cups, and bits of wire shaped by Kiddo’s hands, becoming Helper Holder Bots (for those times you need to keep your toothbrush out of the sink).

Would this be a thing of engineering wonder? Absolutely not! But failure was not an option. Not today. Not on my watch. Kiddo would have a product and it would be ready for the fair on time, and he’d learned more than a lesson or two beyond basic economics.

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Such as:

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1. Homework doesn’t stop until the last bell rings.
2. Just because you were successful once, doesn’t mean it is guaranteed again.
3. Always plan for things to go wrong – they often will.
4. Don’t make promises (or glue down your poster), until you know for sure what you will be able to offer.

 And last, but far from the least, never, but never, forget to appreciate your mother (or father). They’re doing the best they can.

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About Allie Potts

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When you are just over five foot tall you learn quickly how to appreciate the little things in life.

A self-professed geek and author of An Uncertain Faith, a women’s fiction novel, and The Fair & Foul a speculative fiction novel, Allie Potts also writes at www.alliepottswrites.com on topics such as the joys and challenges of being a working mom and growing as authorpreneur and the occasional bit of fiction, tip, or non-review review, but mostly about life lessons gleaned from everyday experiences.

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You can also follow her at:

• Twitter
• Instagram
• Pinterest
• Facebook

Books are available at www.amazon.com

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DID YOU KNOW:

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Allie won the opportunity to guest blog on Scribbles on Cocktail Napkins by winning one of our Weekly Scribble Challenges. YOU can win the chance to guest post here too! Just click #SSC on the toolbar above to check out the prompt for this week’s challenge. Participation is quick and easy, and a great way to procrastinate interact with your writing peers. 

Flash fiction challenges fuel creativity. They’re a relatively painless pool for writers who’ve never posted their work to wet those feet, OR for established authors/bloggers to pick up a few new readers.

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So, what are YOU waiting for? This week’s challenge wraps up Saturday. Unleash your writerly self.

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#SSC 11/ May 21- 28th

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For a limited run of six weeks only, the challenge you love is back.

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It starts with a writing prompt issued every Sunday. The responses need only be short and sweet. Or short and scary. Or, short and funny. The point is, the challenge will always require short replies on purpose . . . so YOU have no excuses. Many of the prompts will limit submissions to a simple paragraph. Some, to ONE SENTENCE.

The challenge is meant for writers at every stage–newbies and old hats alike. Writing can be a solitary endeavor; this challenge is specifically designed to lure writers out of their comfort zone for figurative a drink by the water cooler. Participants are encouraged to COMMENT and VOTE on each other’s submissions.

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The prize?

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Each week a challenge winner will be invited to write a GUEST POST on Scribbles on Cocktail Napkins with LINKS to their own work.

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THIS WEEK’S prompt is inspired by last night’s triple birthday celebration with my niece and stepdaughters.

Charlottetown is largely a tourist destination in summer. That means many restaurants in the city are only open from April to October. Last night we went to one of our favorite spots, having recently re-opened after the winter hiatus. My niece ordered a fishbowl, a massive drink with gummy worms swimming along the bottom. Stepdaughter #1 ordered a murky concoction similar to a Mexican Bulldog. Stepdaughter #2 shared a pitcher of Sangria with yours truly. And, in standard form, my husband ordered a beer.

After my niece excused herself to use the washroom we noticed the table was unsteady. She had been leaning on the corner, holding the top in place. Likely, the table had been put together haphazardly after its stint in storage, so I felt around for some screws to tighten underneath.

I didn’t find any screws.

But I did get a giant fistful of spider webs.

And yes, I am an arachnophobe.

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Luckily we had only planned to stay at the restaurant for one drink before moving on. I couldn’t get comfortable after that. Visions of what had become of the building after business had closed for winter ran amok in my mind. Had the interior been completely overrun by spiders? Were they in the floorboards? Were they nesting inside the table legs, waiting to crawl up my pants and into my nose to lay tiny baby spider eggs inside my brain the VERY MOMENT I STOPPED PAYING ATTENTION?

And yes, I am aware these thoughts are slightly outrageous. But, I can’t stop myself from having them. As I said: arachnophobe.

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If you’re waiting on bated breath to find out how the story ended, we successfully moved on to another restaurant. As far as I know, none of us have tiny spider babies developing in our brains. It doesn’t really matter though, because as I write this, I’ve convinced myself I can feel them crawling in my hair.

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So what does this mean in context to your prompt?

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The 11th Sunday Scribble Challenge is all about:

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Your character is trying unsuccessfully to HIDE their PHOBIA.

You have one paragraph to show it.

When the challenge closes on Saturday, May 28th, voters will be asked to select a winner based on the response that resonates best with them.

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RULES:

1. Participants have until Saturday, May 27th at noon, Eastern standard time to post ONE response to the prompt in the comment section of THIS POST.
2. ENCOURAGE other scribblers. Try to comment (reply) to at least three other submissions during the week.
3. After the Saturday deadline, players have a week to VOTE for their favorite submission by emailing: Sundayscribblechallenge@gmail.com. Place the lucky author’s name in the HEADER of your email.
   

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And, as always:

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The responses to last week’s challenge were amazing! Thanks to everyone who participated. The Sunday Scribbles Challenge’s primary focus is helping authors forge connections in the writing community. So, if you decide to dive in to this week’s challenge, please remember to comment (reply) to at least three other entries before voting opens on Saturday, May 27.

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