Creativity,  Drabble Contest

Write a 100 Word Story! Include 3 Words! Win A Contest!

This is the place for a weekly flash fiction contest!

Can you write a story in 100 words?

The Apples To Apples Drabble! 

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. And you can ignore the small words that explain it clearer. We just want the big three.
  3. Paste your drabble into the comments below. Then share this with your friends. The more comments you get on your entry, the more likely you are to 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 ignore 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. This contest is open from 5:00 AM EST every Friday and closes down the following Sunday night at midnight. Comments are welcome throughout the week, but no more entries are allowed. 
  8. 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.
  9. Winning entries will be announced on the 10 Minute Novelists Facebook group page the following Friday. The entry will also be published in the monthly digital newsletter, 10 Minute Novelists Insider. You can sign up for this here! 
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This week’s cards!

 

Katharine Grubb has mastered the art of freewriting because she wrote her first novel in 10 minute increments. There are probably easier ways to write a book, but with homeschooling her five children, she’ll take what she can get. Her latest book, Write A Novel In 10 Minutes A Day was just released and is available on Amazon.com She lives in Massachusetts and blogs at www.10minutenovelists.com.

30 Comments

  • Michel Daw

    She carefully pulled the tray of muffins out of the oven.
    “Hey,” he said, standing behind her. She smiled.
    “Hey yourself,” she replied, turning around and wiping her hands on her little apron.
    He put his arms around her. “Thank you,” he said.
    “For the muffins? It’s no big deal, I like to do it.”
    “I know, but that’s not what I mean. Thank you for all of it. The baking, the kids, the blood, sweat and tears. For thirty years of of a better marriage than I deserve.”
    She folded herself into his embrace. “Thank you, too. Happy Anniversary.”

  • Michel Daw

    “So,” she said, leaning over him, “What’s his name?”
    “Muffins,” sobbed the little girl.
    “Hello, Muffins.” She tenderly dabbed at the blood seeping out of the abrasions, gently removing the embedded grit and asphalt.
    “Is he dead?”
    “Oh, no honey. But he is pretty badly hurt.” The puppy would live, but she could tell that his back was broken from the impact.
    “Can I take him home now, doctor?” the girl pleaded. Her father tried to calm her.
    How do I tell a child that I have to kill her dog? The veterinarian thought. Sometimes, this job hurts too much.

  • Michel Daw

    Mark “Muffins” Mufasa was not a little man, at nearly seven feet tall and over three-hundred pounds of leather clad biker. His left arm was covered with skulls, intertwined with blood-red roses. His right had a scaly fish that extended from shoulder to wrist, the letters ἸΧΘΥΣ” etched in the same blood-red ink. He had three plates full of food on each arm as he approached the table.
    On Wednesday’s the Capital City Biker’s Church supported the Shepherd of Good Hope homeless mission by cooking and serving hot meals.
    “Right,” he barked in a gruff voice, “who’s got the chicken?”

  • Bob Allen

    She had been mad, blood in her eyes mad. She’d finally asked Randy why he called her
    and her friends The Little Muffins, and he had calmly told her that it was because they all had
    muffin tops. As she stormed away, she started to calm down and then started to worry, maybe it
    hadn’t been the best idea to text what Randy had said to the other girls. Then she remembered
    and turned around and started running, fast as possible, she had to get to Randy and warn him!
    Molly the Irish redhead with the temper had a gun!

  • Karen Power

    ”Now what are the ingredients?” Marcy thought, making a list from the recipe she found on her smartphone. She waited in her car for the heavy downpour to stop long enough to get inside the grocery store. “Why did I ever volunteer to make blood-orange muffins?” 

She wished she could call her sweet grandma to ask. After all they were grandma’s favorite. Just the thought brought a tear spilling onto her cheek. It mingled with a little raindrop as she opened the car door.

    If no one else liked them, she would eat them. Grandma’s favorite for Grandma’s funeral.

  • Emberley

    In her old age his mother had continued to pour her heart into her baking, and even when she could no longer remember who he was, she could remember every little difference between baking soda and baking powder, between whole wheat and whole grain.
    Her muffins tasted as they had when he was a child burning his pudgy fingers on them.
    She smiled the polite smile of a stranger at him. He offered a weak smile in return and told her caretaker that he was ready to leave.
    Thicker than water though it may be, blood remains thinner than batter.

  • Karen Power

    Mason Stanton reached into his backpack for the lancet to prick his finger for blood. He felt a little light-headed. A sure sign he needed to stop and find a muffin to eat before his flight departed for Nashville.

    “This stupid diabetes! Not going to stop me from realizing my dream. It’s bright lights and big city all the way!” he declared.

    He walked across the concourse to the cafe. Sitting down beside a beautiful blonde who appeared to be his age, he asked, “Where you headin’, ma’am?”

    

“Nashville” she replied with a twinkle in her big blue eyes. 


  • Karen Power

    Mason Stanton reached into his backpack for the lancet to prick his finger for blood. He felt a little light-headed. A sure sign he needed to stop and find some muffins to eat before his flight departed for Nashville.

    “This stupid diabetes! Not going to stop me from realizing my dream. It’s bright lights and big city all the way!” he declared.

    He walked across the concourse to the cafe. Sitting down beside a beautiful blonde who appeared to be his age, he asked, “Where you headin’, ma’am?” 

“Nashville” she replied with a twinkle in her big blue eyes. 


  • Kris Baker Dersch

    Every kid thinks their mom is the best cook.

    Billy the Monster’s mom makes the best kitten chops. Roderick the Zombie’s mom bakes excellent banana brain bread…just eat a little, that stuff is rich. Erica the Ghost’s mom makes really good fudge but it’s invisible so quite difficult to eat.

    Everything’s an acquired taste, but Miss Mixx, our teacher at Wayward School for Magical Misfits insists we try everything.

    It’s my turn for snack today and I know it’s going to rock. People think that vampires don’t have a good palate, but they have not tasted my mother’s blood muffins.

  • TLC Nielsen

    “Blood muffins! Get them while they’re hot,” a vender yelled across the crowded stadium.

    I stared at my date. “Umm, did he say blood muffins?”

    My date, engrossed in the violent game down on the field, murmured, “Yeah, sure.”

    “Tay-lor!”

    “Hmmm?”

    I exhaled. “Is that vendor selling blood muffins?”

    Her eyes narrowed but she gave me a little smile. “Naw, must’ve heard him wrong.”

    “What was he selling, then?”

    She smiled up at me, her eyeteeth glinting in the moonlight.

    “Oh handsome, really? I didn’t take you for the squeamish type.”

    Taking no chances, I excused myself and called home.

  • Sheryl M. Baker

    Upon hearing her owner’s blood-curdling scream, Muffin darted behind the sofa. When the screaming continued, she peered out from her safe-haven and spied what was causing the raucous.

    Scrunched in the corner of the living room was a little gray mouse. The mouse, distracted by the screams, sat motionless except for its twitching whiskers.

    Feeling brave, Muffin crept out. Slinking closer and closer, Muffin waited patiently for her chance to save the day. Crouching low, Muffin paused. Her gray tail flipped sporadically.

    As the mouse sat riveted toward the source of the screams, Muffin wiggled into stance – and pounced!

  • Janet Hogan Chapman

    Little Miss Muffins
    Sat on her tuffins
    Eating her curds and blood
    Along came a spider who sat down beside her
    And said, “Why would you eat such crud?”

    Miss Muffins said “It’s on my diet,
    Here, have some, you really should try it!”
    To which he replied, as he died
    “No thank you, I already imbibed it.”

    Miss Muffins lay down on her tuffins
    So sick was she from her crud
    She petted the spider, dead beside her
    Then said, as she lay down her head,
    “Dear spider, my friend, it’s over again, but this is not the end.”

  • Elaine

    I scanned my calendar, as was my Sunday evening habit. Monday was the blood draw, Tuesday was coffee with Sheila (I planned to gorge myself on a huge chocolate muffin), and on Wednesday my daughter would go to Little Trekkers after preschool to see if she could make it through a 6 hour day.
    I fiddled with the pregnancy stick, looking at the glossy digital display.
    Pregnant
    It brought back all the memories of the first two times: first just shock and dismay, next in joy and anticipation. This time it was just disbelief. Who knew a vasectomy could fail?

  • Leander Beatty Jr

    My Mom often said, “Think before speaking!” I never thought about it until one incident later in life.

    Someone asked, “Have you ever eaten bear?” Much later, I understood what they meant. That day, however, I heard something different.

    “I have” I replied. “Big mistake! The plate was hot. I bobbled it and hot food fell in my lap. Now I only eat with clothes on!”

    They never asked me another question.

    When I told Mom, she just smiled, kissed me on the forehead and walked away. Strange, but I now think before speaking.

    And no; I have never eaten bear.

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