Six Sentence Story – Sign

Are you up (or down) for a Six Sentence Story?


Image result for images of empty ice cream containers

Hi.  Remember me?  This week’s Six Sentence Story is a combination of the last two cues.  I began writing it last week when the cue was transform.  When I saw this week’s cue, I knew it was a sign that I could continue, and as the quote says, I could write until the end.  Linking with GirlieOnTheEdge and the other Sixers who gather each week (or every other) to share stories.

Continue reading “Six Sentence Story – Sign”

Six Sentence Story – Manner

Play Misty for Me.


If you are a regular visitor, you might remember that Clark wrote a six several weeks ago and I ghosted him and wrote his story from a different perspective.   This week we are switching perspectives again, he’s going to ghost my story.  Have some fun and check it out.

Continue reading “Six Sentence Story – Manner”

Six Sentence Story – Investigate

A ghastly, ghostly tale in six sentences.

Joining in with a Six Sentence story at Girlie On The Edge’s weekly blog party.


It was 3 AM and Jill sat straight up in bed, sure she had heard an eerie noise, the hairs on her arms tingling and her senses hyper-focused on the sound that had just roused her from a deep sleep.

Apparently, her husband, snoring away beside her, was unaware or unconcerned.

Inhaling deeply, but quietly, she felt around the floor for the moccasins she’d kicked off before getting in bed last night.

Slipping them on, she grabbed the baseball bat they had laughingly placed under the bed for such a situation, as if it would ever really happen, and went downstairs to investigate.

Jill tiptoed from room to room, barely breathing and hearing nothing but the hum of the refrigerator  thinking, “it was probably nothing, maybe just the sound of my own breath.”

She went back up the stairs, feeling quite ridiculous, but when she opened the door to the bedroom, she saw a white filmy cloud, a miasma of energy swirling above her husband’s sleeping form; that’s when she screamed.

Inspired by and dedicated to all those times we are awaken from a deep sleep by something.  I’m reminded of that children’s book by Mercer Mayer – Things That Go Bump in the Night.

Click on the photo and link up or just read more Six Sentence Stories.


Six Sentence Story – Shed

Did you say Six Sentence Story?

Each week Denise invites us to share a story in six sentences.  Sounds simple, but like all good challenges, not always easy.   I’m sharing her quote from Dorothy Parker, “I hate writing.  I love having written”.

Every day, an hour and a half each way, I ride a commuter bus to work.

When I’m not catching up on the sleep that eludes me at night or reading the latest download to my Kindle, I play a people watching game, without making any eye contact, of course.

Do you suppose the two ladies, similarly dressed in black trousers and colorful blouses, work at the same office, or perhaps they are taking the bus into the city to see a show today?

How about that guy with the mustache who certainly looks like he has a bit of a creeper aspect;  can’t you  tell by the cast of eyes when he turns his neck to watch the riders boarding?

I inadvertently meet the penetrating eyes of the grungy man as he makes his way down the center aisle,  wondering how he would look if he shed the plaid shirt and baggy jeans,  yet helplessly lost in the depth of intensity of his eyes.

Do you think he’ll take the empty seat beside me?



Six Sentence Story bloghop.  Join the fun by reading or writing or both.



Six Sentence Story – Flexible

Life imitates art, or is it the other way around?

I’m a sporadic contributor to this blog-hop.  It’s not that I don’t want to join in each and every week.  It’s not at all that I don’t have stories to tell.  It’s not that I don’t want to share some of my stories (well, maybe just a little), but I discovered, through a conversation with Clark, that maybe there was another perspective on the process that might help.  You see, I contemplate the cue as the inspiration for the story each week and sometimes the story eludes me.   In his process the story is first, and he fits the cue into it.  Simple, maybe not easy,  but duh, slap myself in the head.


Clare entered through the garage that was always left open and rapped lightly on the door that led into the spacious home in the senior complex, opening it and shouting, “Hello, dad, I’m here”.

Her stepfather never answered;he didn’t hear well, even with devices to help, so she always wondered if this was the time she was going to find his ancient body at eternal rest.

She dreaded that time, and yet the thought of his peaceful passing offered some comfort and release from the reluctant care-giving role she had assumed because supposedly, her schedule was the most flexible, and she was closer in proximity than the other children.

They never expected him, after his triple bypass surgery and the passing of their mother, whose strength and practicality had kept the family together, to last this long, but he had surprised them all.

She walked through the hallway into the kitchen, listening for the tap of his cane as he made his way from the recliner, asking, “how are you doing, today?”

“I’m doing just fine.”


Denise offers a cue each week to a group of writers who share stories and writing styles.  No matter what the process or the cue, the rules are the same.  A story (poem, memoir, fiction or my favorite – fictionalized reality) in six sentences.


Six Sentence Story – Echo

Telling a story from an alternate perspective.

Well, Clark reeled me into his writing web.  Perhaps you, like I, found his “ghost” writer in Lisa Listwa last week.  Well, this week, the ghost is me.  Putting aside all the feelings of insecurity, (can I do it?  I’m not as good as they are.  What if. . . ?), I am telling his tale from an alternate perspective.

Misty Meadows was glued to the window, the silk robe falling off her lithe and toned shoulders,  just a peek of the turquoise g-string and bra-lette showing through the gossamer fabric, staring at the action unfolding in front of the club.

Ever since she had proved to her boss, Lou, that she could keep her mouth shut in certain circumstances involving the law, he’d been her champion.

She watched with the trace of a sardonic smile on her cherry-red lips as he got in the face of that sleazebag bouncer; she could almost see the hair raised on the creepy little pinhead who never missed a chance to rub up against her and whisper sweet disgustings in her ear.

The echo of his suggestive and lewd words replayed in her head, as she waited for Lou to punch him in his mottled face, it might improve his complexion, and send him skulking off like the weasel he was.

One of the regulars walked up, that detective who always enjoys the dancing but knows to keep his hands off, except, of course, when he was filling her thong with dollar bills.

Lou escorted Mr. Devereaux inside, while the ‘no-longer working at the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge loser’ took his leave, and Misty dropped her robe, ready for the afternoon performance.

You never know what you are going to find when you stop by the Six Sentence Story bloghop hosted by Girlie On the Edge.  This week the cue is ECHO.  The stories may be fun, deep, poetic, metaphoric, fiction or non-fiction, but they all have one thing in common – only six sentences.