Mere literary talent is common; what is rare is endurance, the continuing desire to work hard at writing.
– Donald Hall
Author: bryon
haiku 209
superstore
small bird perches
on coffee sign
Fiction: PIN
Daren swiped his credit card through the reader and pushed 8-7-1-5.
The screen read, “Incorrect PIN. Please try again.”
He frowned. That had to be the right number, and he tried it again with the same result.
He had one chance left and tested 8-5-7-1. The bank’s computer canceled the transaction. He took a quick look over his shoulder; several others waited in line behind him.
“I’ll have to think about my number for a minute,” he told the girl behind the counter.
“Okay,” she said absently, and turned to the next customer.
Daren walked away from the counter and stood by the newspapers as he pondered the number puzzle. It was becoming too much trouble for a pack of cigarettes. He turned the numbers around in his head. No, the number had to be 8-7-1-5. He’d used that number hundreds of times. He could see himself doing it. Push 8-7-1-5 and…
Oh.
He took a deep breath, and his PIN came to him as he exhaled. He got back in line. The cashier still had the cigarettes sitting by the register. At his turn, he swiped his card and pushed 6-2-9-4, and the transaction went through.
Daren walked out and got in his car. He opened the cigarettes and lit one, inhaling deeply.
Six years and I’m still trying to dial her phone number.
It wasn’t Daren’s only automatic response; ten minutes later, he walked into the bar with no recollection of having driven there.
Quotable 96
A young writer is easily tempted by the allusive and ethereal and ironic and reflective, but the declarative is at the bottom of most good writing.
– Garrison Keillor
haiku 208
full moon –
only the brightest stars
visible
Quotable 95
Fiction reveals truths that reality obscures.
– Jessamyn West
haiku 207
pesky moth
finds fridge light –
I close the door
Fiction: Ruffled Feathers
The werecat tried to nap, but a buzzing sound and a whisper of breeze plagued him.
Orin held back a sigh as he lifted his head from his front paws and stared straight ahead. Every few seconds, Toshi the werehummingbird zipped into and out of view. Orin had strict orders from Mistress not to hurt Toshi; she was harmless, after all, doing nothing but enjoying a little flying.
Mistress knew well that the werehummingbird was teasing the werecat, yet she just smirked slightly and gave Orin no relief.
But Toshi was, in fact, a mild nuisance and not the werecat’s true nemesis.
Quotable 94
I’ll give you the sole secret of short-story writing, and here it is: Rule 1. Write stories that please yourself. There is no rule 2. … If you can’t write a story that pleases yourself, you will never please the public.
– O. Henry
haiku 206
waterlogged ground
squishes underfoot –
trash-burning day