Tag Archives: fiction

Weekly writing challenge:

5 Nov

The Weekly Writing Challenge: A Picture Is Worth 1,000 Words: This week’s challenge couldn’t be simpler: tell a story based on this picture.

Ergo, presenting my 1000 words worth the picture I saw. I’m pretty sure, the story – sans the title – is a thousand words long.

A thousand *imagined* words

Mom with a camera was always a scary experience. Just for the heck of it, she’d dress us up and then go on clicking… working the shutter and some more clicking. Looking at this picture, you may have thought we were actually off to some place. Trust me it was nothing like that.

So here’s the story. It was actually a hot summer’s day – you wouldn’t have guessed it, right! So it was hot and humid. I still remember that day clearly because that’s one reason I’ve saved this picture. It was a Sunday – a hot sunny Sunday. We were all home. My brother and I were all set to take  plunge in our small kiddie pool. Dad was sweating in the heat to make sure the pool was properly inflated and mom had gone indoors to get our swimming gears. I was running around to get sweatier after convincing my brother to chase me. Very soon, we’ll be enjoying some water sport.

What happened next may give you all a shock… so brace yourself. Mom went in to get us the swimming gears and out she came with a brilliant idea. I couldn’t believe my eyes when she came out with my pink dress. I couldn’t believe my mom would let me swim wearing my favourite dress. I also saw the pink hat. Now, why would she want me to wear a hat for a swim?

She dressed me up and I was tickled pink and I couldn’t wait to get drenched wearing my FAVOURITE dressMy mom went on to dress my brother while I began getting impatient by the second. It was getting hotter, too. The pink dress wasn’t for a hot day, it was my Christmas dress and it was meant for winter. I didn’t object only because she was going to let me get into the pool with the dress.

A few more minutes and lo and behold, my brother was ready, too.

Dad called  mom aside and there they were chatting away. My brother was sweating profusely and so was I. The only thing that was making me hang in there was the thought of taking that pink-dip. I was focusing on the bigger picture. I was focusing on the reward more than the work. It wasn’t the same with my brother – he hated wearing anything formal, let’s just say he didn’t like getting dressed up. He still doesn’t.

Our parents were trying our patience. Dad’s “Can I talk to you for a minute?” had passed beyond the minute and it already seemed like hours. At last, I knew it was time when I saw my dad’s hands going up. Mom had got away with whatever they were discussing. Maybe dad didn’t want us to wear our Sunday best while splashing in the pool and boy was I happy when he finally gave up and gave in.

“Dad’ll be out soon. So just wait a little while, okay…” How lovely those words sounded. She was all smiles.

Just like she had promised, Dad came out. He came out with the kind of clothes he wore for work. Could he be swimming with us? How would he fit in there? If he did come into the pool with us, would there be enough room for all three of us?

Dad called us and held our hands and there we were walking. But why? I wanted to ask until I saw mom coming out with a camera in her hands. She had a little purse, too. All of us walked to the front and then Mom gave me the purse to hold. Now I understood why my brother was so sullen. He had known this was coming. Silly me!!! I was no longer tickled pink. I was beginning to feel blue and hotter by the second.

Mom took out the new film and began loading it into the camera. Dad wanted to help but she stopped him. She said she could do it. There was lot of fumbling going on while the three of us stood still – feeling hot as hell. A lot of tugging and tweaking followed while the three of us were still standing – still feeling hot as hell. I looked over to my brother, he was still sulking. I tried getting his attention but failed. By this time, even Dad was beginning to look like brother – sullen, sulking – like father like son.

I began feeling sweat trickling down my back and I couldn’t wait to avenge this whole episode by drowning in the pool with the dress on. I was still the only one looking happy – because I knew, my patience would be rewarded. The fumbling, tugging and everything seemed to take forever. Now, my mom was on her knees trying to get that thing working. Then I saw her shutting the cover and I knew it was time.

“All right, now there everybody, smile….” She clicked and nothing happened. “Darling, do you mind checking this for me?”

“Finally!!!” Dad spoke without saying. He must  have said so or would have liked to say so.

“Thank you, honey!” Mom said as Dad walked to us. “All right family, get ready.”



“Honey, wind the film….” Dad intervened.

Krrrrrr came the sound. “Okay, let’s do this… huddle up, smile” Click!

“One more, just one more and we’re all done here… Okay” She was pleading. “Come on, one smile.”

This time we all smiled.




“The film, honey… wind it… please” Dad spoke without opening his mouth – his jaws clenched tight.

“Sorry!” Krrrrrr – wound up. “Smile”

No smiles.


Result: The Picture above.

Now you know why we aren’t smiling in that picture. Put yourselves in our shoes or rather in our dress, on a scorching hot day. Smiles – only later when Mom actually let us splash with our Sunday best on [result of a whole lot of begging, nagging and pleading].

Weekly Writing Challenge: Plan

9 Oct

Foreword: This is my VERY FIRST attempt at “Fiction”. My biggest challenge is to write the dialogues and for this piece I’ve learnt (taken) quite a lot from this blog here http://anecdotaltales.wordpress.com/. I DO NOT know the intricacies of fiction writing although I’ve ALWAYS been an aspiring novelis – Ironic??

This week’s challenge here wants us to do something completely different. A work of fiction and NO PICTURES. 

So this week, we challenge you to step outside your blogging box and try something totally different:

  • If you normally write non-fiction, try fiction.

Hence comes this work of fiction. 


“…but weren’t you planning to write?” Sharon said scanning the paraphernalia spread out in the room.

“Yep, that’s the plan.” Winston answered.

“In that case, Winny… What’s a grenade doing in your room?”

Winston winced at the patronising tone. He was thinking of whether or not to answer because if he responded, he knew there would be no stopping her asking more questions.

“Where else should a grenade do?” He retorted a little later. The best way to answer/ dodge a question is to ask a question, or so he thought.

“Where did you get it from?”

He didn’t see this coming.

“Where do you think I got it from? I bet you $100 if you get it right.” Throwing her off  track i.e. from talking about the *plan* was now his sole plan.

“OK, I need a clue”.

“World War II”

“That’s not even a clue.” Sharon was getting impatient.

This was quite an easy way to get $100 off from him and she wasn’t letting go. After all, she was a genius at guessing.  Nonetheless, her mind had begun working at a fierce pace. Her face showed no expression of impatience. She put up an impression, the kind one sees in a duck in a pool. It may look calm and serene from the outside but underneath it all, the duck’s webfeet are definitely at work.

World War II: Does he have a friend with a family member who’d fought in the war? She was ransacking everything in her memory, stories/ anecdotes he’d told her about his friends.

“I’m waiting for a clue, come on Winn!”

“If I give you one more clue, you’ll walk away with that $100.”

“Well, get ready to get rid of some greens. Luke gave it to you or you took it from Luke.”

“How the hell did you do it?” But weren’t you asking me for more clues?” He was absolutely dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe she found it out this fast. He was worried now, not just about the money but knowing her she’d soon resume with the questioning about the *plan*.

“$100 please.” She said it out loud and clear. “I am the elephant when it comes to memory, so now hand it over…”

“I don’t have it in cash. Maybe we can go out and I’ll pay you up… and you can treat me to dinner.”

“Me??? Treat??? Sorry but I’ve earned IT ALL. So don’t be sly. You’re not getting anything out of that $100.”

“A cheeseburger at least. Although it’s going to be the most expensive cheeseburger I’d have ever had.”

“No can do, bro.”

“All right. Get your bag and we’re out of here.” He cried as he walked towards the door.

“He was in quite a hurry to get rid of his $100,” she thought.

Out in the open, he was relieved. He had dreaded his sister’s visit. She was always at him about his writing *plan*. He was too busy in his practice and it wasn’t easy to just sit back and write. He had scores of clients who needed his time. Indeed, it was his plan to write – maybe become the next John Grisham.

She was one helluva supportive sister, but at times she didn’t understand that writing doesn’t happen “just like that”. It needs time, a whole lot of time. At times, he wondered how his sister didn’t understand this little part. She was heading a publishing house and must have seen how long it takes for aspiring writers to become GREAT authors. How, then, could she not understand that a great writer needs a lot of time? He didn’t dare ask her the question.

After all, it had taken him a grenade and $100 to stop her from egging him on.


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