Creativity,  Drabble Contest

Apples to Apples Drabble! A Weekly Flash Fiction Contest! Submit Your Entry!

This is the place for a weekly flash fiction contest!

The Apples To Apples Drabble! 

Apples to Apple Drabble Flash Fiction Contest by 10 Minute Novelists


The Rules: 

  1. Write a drabble. A drabble is a 100 word story, with beginning, middle and end. A drabble can be any genre. Make it exactly 100 words. You can do it. That’s what adjectives and adverbs are for.
  2. Include each of the three Apples To Apples cards in the photo. All three. Not two. Not four. ALL THREE. New cards are chosen every week.
  3. Paste your drabble into the comments below. Then share this with your friends. The more comments you get on your entry, the more you can win!
  4. Absolutely no links, screen shots or salesy type of behavior in the content entry. 
  5. Winners are chosen by the amount of positive response they get. Comments like, “This is great!” or “How funny!” or “Good job!” are the kinds of things that will be counted. Negative comments like, “this contest sucks” or “the rest of the entries are losers” or “WTF?” will be unapproved. The author of this blog reserves the right to unapprove or block any content that is suspected of originating from trolls. In the event of a tie, winners will be chosen by this method. 
  6. Limit 3 entries per person. If you’re having fun, come back next Friday.
  7. Contest is open from 5:00 AM EST every Friday and closes down the following Sunday night at midnight.
  8. Winning entries will be announced on the 10 Minute Novelists Facebook group page the following Monday. The entry will also be published in the monthly digital newsletter, 10 Minute Novelists Insider. Want to subscribe to The Insider? Click here!
  9. All entries must contain no profanity, no graphic violence or erotica and no hate speech. Entries that do not abide by this rule will not be approved. Consistent abuse of this rule will warrant a blocked user.

This week’s cards!

Apples To Apples Drabble Cards 10 Minute Novelists


Good luck! 

I am a fiction writing and time management coach. I help time crunched novelists strengthen their craft, manage their time and gain confidence so they can find readers for their stories.

Katharine Grubb is a homeschooling mother of five, a novelist, a baker of bread, a comedian wannabe, a former running coward and the author of Write A Novel In 10 Minutes A Day. Besides pursuing her own fiction and nonfiction writing dreams, she also leads 10 Minute Novelists on Facebook, an international group for time-crunched writers that focuses on tips, encouragement and community. 

Katharine Grubb is an author, poet, homeschooling mother, camping enthusiast, bread-baker, and believer in working in small increments of time. She leads 10 Minute Novelists, an international Facebook group of time-crunched writers. She lives with her family in Massachusetts.


  • Elaine

    My house may be haunted, but it’s also quite practical. The garbage cans are wheeled out promptly every Monday at midnight, although I’m the one who has to put them back after trash collection. When a window spontaneously breaks, it happens on Monday or Tuesday, giving me plenty of time to call a repairman. Sadly, the heater is not so polite. It had the nerve to fail Friday night! I complained, but then found out her issue. It turns out the crawl space is haunted too, and the heater just got scared. It’s a shame that exorcisms can’t be selective.

  • Marina Chapman

    The garbage cans rattled as Harvey’s head appeared out of the one nearest the door. As hiding places go it wasn’t very practical, especially early on trash collection day, but where needs must the devil flies. Scrambling free of the metal can Harvey cast a frightened glance over his shoulder at the haunted house he was fleeing. The devil sure is flying in there, he thought as he ran for the gate. Behind Harvey the door bulged outwards, a transparent face popping through the wood.

    “Run, fat boy,” the ghost hissed.

    With a scream Harvey bolted, never to return again.

  • Susanne Thomas

    Another violent haunting had been reported. Lightbulbs, glasses, windows, and cabinet doors had violently exploded. James entered the house cautiously, dragging a large metal garbage can and industrial broom.
    He sighed briefly, the exorcism would happen soon, but first this mess would have to be cleared.
    He muttered. “Don’t mind me spirits, just here to clean.”
    His broom scraped the floor, sweeping and pulling at the glittering pieces, clattering and tinkling as he filled the container.
    He finished quickly and loaded his truck up for the next job. Some poltergeist had exploded a toilet. Those guys were always the messiest.

  • Carolyn Astfalk

    My neighbor is loco. Some people hear rattling chains in the attic and think “haunted house.” Having lived here seven years, I know better. Rattling chains in the attic means the pulley that hoists the pudgy three-legged dog with ragged ears has been activated by my “ingenius” neighbor. More practical than a doggy door, my neighbor says. Oscar, the world’s ugliest canine, descends two stories in a bright orange drywall bucket, landing unceremoniously atop dented metal garbage cans. I scurry out the door and release Oscar into the grass to do his business. Who’s more loco – my neighbor or me?

  • Meka James

    Sarah approached the dilapidated house. Looking back at her friends she rolled her eyes at Connor who was recording the whole thing on his phone. Next time she’d choose truth. The creepy place was the town’s known haunted house. If she managed to stay inside for the five minutes she’d have major bragging rights. Looking around for something to stand on, she saw a beat up garbage can, not the most practical choice because it was wobbly, but it would have to do. Carefully she knocked away broken shards of glass, said a silent prayer, then climbed through the window.

  • Mary

    The realtor knocks down the For Sale sign. Rick and I smile at each other and then kiss in celebration of owning our first home. It’s more practical than renting.

    “Remember, if you hear noises tonight, it’s probably raccoons. They’re accustomed to rummaging through garbage cans looking for food. The Home Owner Association is bringing in experts to handle the situation. Enjoy your new house.” With that, the realtor jumps into her car leaving us to move in.

    From the other side of the hedge, our new neighbor hollers, “It’s not raccoons causing the racquet. You’ve bought a haunted house.”

  • Lauren Doolin

    Cell phones are too practical, and this is why.

    “911, what is your emergency?”

    My mouth is dry- I swallow. “My coworker’s been stabbed. In his side.”

    “What is your current location?”

    So unflappable. And I’m a mess… “We’re at the haunted house, on Montague Lane.”

    “The haunted- ma’am, is this a prank call?”

    “What!? No! We both work here, in the haunted house, and he went out back for a smoke, and he didn’t come back when his break was over and I just found him behind the garbage cans, and…”

    Movement. A reflection- was that a knife..?

  • Christina Butrum

    ****Fixed Version****

    It had been Sean’s idea to bring her there. He had promised a practical, romantic date, but instead had brought her to this disturbing, uncanny place. Never once had she ever mentioned that she enjoyed haunted houses.

    With overturned garbage cans, full of rodents and scoundrels alike out front, she contemplated entering the house.

    Not wanting to be a bad sport, she stepped forward and allowed him to guide her through the crooked, rotted door that creaked noisily against the wind.

    Sean promised she’d be okay, but the only thing she was sure of – there wouldn’t be a second date.

  • Emily van Dyk

    I knew the old house was haunted when I bought it, but I’m too pragmatic and practical to let it bother me. Not that I didn’t believe in ghosts—I did—they simply didn’t disturb me. I didn’t blink at doors opening and closing by themselves. Darting shadows and eerie groans made me roll over and fall back asleep. Like taking out the garbage cans every Sunday night, it was just another vaguely unpleasant part of life. Guests never visited and I never antagonized the spirits. We had an understanding between us I thought. Until the blood started seeping through the walls.

  • Michel Daw

    (maybe a little late)

    He stood up once again and brushed the dirt off his jeans. He scanned around for weapons and grabbed a long stick and a garbage can lid. Not elegant, perhaps, but practical. He straightened his shoulders, preparing to do battle with the last remaining ghost of this haunted house. He gave the stick a few experimental swishes and stepped forward, his resolve set. If he failed, his life was forfeit. He inhaled.

    Jimmy! Dinner! Called a voice from beyond. He looked up suddenly, dropping his weapons and taking off at a dash. It was Mac & Cheese night after all!

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