Tag Archives: Nightwriters

Nightwriters

Nightwriters: Birthday Cake

Jan AlarcanBy Jan Alarcon

A week after my car accident I enter an extended care facility. All but one of us is here to heal our broken bones. Rest and wait for your x-rays to change. A furry snowball will surround the break; then disappear; a solid white line will replace it. Be of good cheer. A bone never breaks in the same place twice. I wait for two months for my twenty-seven lines to appear.
Lena has no broken bones. Lena, on compassionate care, has an inoperable brain tumor. She’s thirty-one. Commensurate with her status, Lena has the sunny corner room with glass walls and views of both gardens. A trolley cart, replenished daily with home-baked goods, resides at her door. Her children visit every morning, her church every evening. All link arms and pray around her. Lena’s eyes open and express concern, forgiveness, prophecy; the interpretation is up to us. Continue reading Nightwriters: Birthday Cake →

Coast News, Nightwriters

Submissions Being Accepted for the Golden Quill Awards

TGQ Web Logo-01The Golden Quill Awards writing contest, sponsored by SLO Nightwriters and in conjunction with the Central Coast Writers Conference and Cuesta College, is now in its 26th year. This contest has grown over the years to include entrants from across the country and internationally.
The theme of this year’s contest is Transformation.  Each entry must depict this theme, as interpreted by the writer.
The hottest new trend in the writing community, Flash Fiction, is a new category this year. Writers are challenged to compose an entire short story in no more than 500 words.  The remaining categories are Short Fiction, a story between 1,000 and 1,200 words; and Poetry, a poem up to 40 lines. Continue reading Submissions Being Accepted for the Golden Quill Awards →

Nightwriters

Nightwriters: So Long, Fuzzy

Jean MoelterBy Jean Moelter

Firstborn started begging for a dog at age six, but his father and I weren’t ready for the commitment. So we convinced him that a rat would be just as much fun. Thus began many years of rodent infestation at our house.
We usually had a few at a time, so they wouldn’t get lonely. Rats only live about two years, and some of ours died peacefully in their sleep. But others developed rat bronchitis and spent their last weeks of life, not coughing exactly, but breathing loudly. We always sought medical treatment for the sick ones, but that just seemed to prolong their suffering—to the tune of eighty dollars for an exam plus antibiotics. Continue reading Nightwriters: So Long, Fuzzy →

Nightwriters

Nightwriters: The Ordinance

Sharyl HeberBy Sharyl Heber

Niagara. Trite, but it means something to him. Tourists that surround us on the platform keep their distance.
“How long I’ve waited to stand here with you,” he says. The roar of the Falls overpowers his voice. I can feel the unnatural heat of his breath on my neck. He reaches for my hand to find his lavish diamond on my finger. Turning it, he croons an eerie bar of ‘Twilight Time’ and presses himself closer.   Continue reading Nightwriters: The Ordinance →

Nightwriters

Nightwriters: A Change of Heart

Janice KonstantinidisBy Janice Konstantinidis

Corporal Derek Gardner—what can I say about him?
I’ve been sitting here for most of the morning trying to write a eulogy for my brother’s funeral. Nobody told me it would be this difficult. The minister from our church offered suggestions, but I can’t relate to them. He spoke about forgiveness and coming to terms. Seeing Mom and Dad so shocked and confused adds to my growing sense of anger about my brother’s death.
I start to type. Continue reading Nightwriters: A Change of Heart →

Nightwriters

Nightwriters:15 Minutes in Purgatory

By Liz Regan

“You have fifteen minutes to write a story in the third person point of view. Begin now.”     The writers scramble to position their keyboards, papers, pens, eager to launch their electrifying tales—all except one—Tabula Rasa.
“Anyone home?” she thumps her forehead.  No response, empty, a whirl of dust bunnies. Tabula Rasa wipes her brow, scattering droplets.  She’s new to the writing class, a toddler among the mature. Third person POV?  She reminds herself, a story told through the eyes of the main character.  Tabula doodles a hangman. She frowns, grasping for a start. Panic looms.
Tabula studies the writers sitting around the table. The man next to her is Homerun Writer Ace. He wields writing much like a homerun hitter wields a baseball bat. His digits sprint across the keyboard, the words chiding his fingers to move faster. The Ace once shared an account of a lad who lived a B+ life but had A- moments. The youth sat in a tree playing his guitar. A hippy girl came by, climbed up and joined him with her guitar. Together they strummed chords and sang Leonard Cohen and Judy Collins. The lad asked her to dinner. The girl accepted. Maybe they married. The Ace didn’t say. Continue reading Nightwriters:15 Minutes in Purgatory →

Nightwriters

Nightwrighters: Finding the Elves – Again

Nancy Meyer Portrait for TolosaBy Nancy Meyer
When I was a little girl, my mother filled my head with stories of fairies and elves every night at bedtime.  In the morning I lay in bed thinking about the magical forest world, while I listened to the elves rustling in the leaves under the big Elm tree by my window. On nights when the soft breeze blew through the pines, I could hear the fairies sing.
“They sing when the wind blows,” mother said, “because that’s how fairy dust travels. And, without fairy dust they can’t fly.”
“Tell me the story about little Clara,” I begged.
“Do you want the story about the night she couldn’t fly?”
“Yes, tell it again. Please!” Continue reading Nightwrighters: Finding the Elves – Again →

Nightwriters

The Shrinking Lake

Tina ClarkBy Tina Clark

My first trip to Santa Margarita Lake happened in 2006, the day after my husband interviewed for a job in the area. His boss had hoped that its beauty would entice our family to relocate from southern California. It worked. We wandered the shores spellbound by panoramic views of vibrant blue water and oak studded hillsides. The hawk feathers my toddler found cinched the deal.
We hiked the lake trails numerous times after that, soon with the addition of a sleeping baby in a backpack carrier. Over the years, we discovered countless numbers of coves, hidden jewels that brimmed full with blue water, but the Children’s fishing area was my kids’ favorite. They loved to sway on the wooden bridge of the nearby play structure then scare themselves by rocking on the small wood docks floating in the lake. Continue reading The Shrinking Lake →

Nightwriters

Nightwriters: Dial ‘C’ For Coffee

Paul Alan FaheyBy Paul Alan Fahey

“Emily, you made it!” Oliver reached for her hand, and then kissed her on the cheek.
“I can only stay a short while. Leonard asked for his nightly coffee, and wouldn’t you know we’d run out. Danziger’s carries what he likes, and it’s quite a jaunt from here.”
“Let’s walk a bit then.”
“It’s Ethiopian, very hard to find.”
“What is?”
“Leonard’s coffee.”
“Mmm.” Continue reading Nightwriters: Dial ‘C’ For Coffee →