Coolest Summer Ever



Eric was having the best summer of his life. For his fifteenth birthday, his parents decided to send him to his Uncle Jimmy who lived in New York for the summer. Uncle Jimmy was only an uncle through relation, not through maturity. He was nineteen and just finishing his first year at NYU. The whole summer was just two guys having the time of their lives. Eric had his first taste of beer, his first joint, and now his first taste of going to a rock concert that his parents would have never approved of. Jimmy was the cool older brother Eric always wanted.

Jimmy was a fan of The Devil’s Tongue and it just so happened they were playing one night down at the pier, so Jimmy bought them tickets and they were spending the whole day just having fun and hanging out. Eric was busy trying to impress some girls on the carousel when Jimmy decided to play a prank and slipped the operator a tenner. The operator turned it to ten and sent it spinning faster and faster around. The riders thought it was the greatest ride they had had…everyone except Eric. The speed activated his long thought dead motion sickness and he spewed all over the girls. Now, Jimmy and the ride operator thought that was the funniest thing ever and just let it spin until the operator’s face became Eric’s next target.

As the ride operator slowed the ride to let everyone off, Jimmy started laughing watching the crying girls and a very angry Eric stumble off the ride. Three guys got off the ride, stopping to help Eric. They saw Jimmy and started walking over to him. His smile faded, and his eyes grew as he recognized the guys.

“You coming to our concert?

“Yeah! I’m a huge fan.” Jimmy pulled out the tickets from his pocket.

The lead singer grabbed the tickets and tore them up, throwing them on the ground in front of Jimmy. The band walked back over to Eric, helped him get up, and took him over to the stage. He watched the show from backstage and became The Devil’s Tongue number one fan.

This was inspired by the WATW challenge and the Three Things Challenge prompts: fan, cool, summer


Dream to Reality or Dream to Nightmare

Everyone begins life as a dreamer. It is in their nature to dream. Dream of what is, what may have been, and what could be. Many remain the dreamer and push everyone further than they ever dreamed possible, but some unrequited dreams become nightmares as others fulfill their dreams inchmeal with little effort. What the unrequited dreamers fail to realize is that they had different dreams….some dreams are never meant to be real.

This short was inspired by:
Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Day — inchmeal
Word of the Day Challenge — unrequited
FOWC with Fandango — dreamer

Question of The Century

While beginning my search for the next few installments of rediscovering old stories (those posts take me hours to do), I came across a letter written in a magazine called The Writer written by Gertrude Lynch and published in April 1892 issue of the magazine. What really struck me was the fact that the man she was talking to…I’ll let you read it. Let me know in the comments what you think of his comment.


A few years ago my attention was attracted by an article in one of the leading magazines. It was an article of more than ordinary merit, possessing that rarity, even then, a plot dramatically conceived and executed. The scene was laid in a part of the world the truthful picturing of which showed the writer to be a person who had travelled much and observed keenly; the diction was “English pure and undefiled.” There was but one drawback, that the author’s name was withheld, and I was obliged to lay my offering of approval and admiration at an unknown shrine.

Lately, in conversation with a man who forms one of the great majority of those who gain a moderate competence in business life, his days spent in the wearisome routine of mercantile life, his nights in painful figurings about that delusive “deal” which is to settle satisfactorily all questions of financial perplexity, our talk turned on books, literary celebrities, the chat of the profession of letters. My friend suddenly became communicative and reminiscent—rare expressions in him.

“A few years ago,” he said. “I, too, had the literary craze. I wrote a little—stray articles, stories, poems, the usual repertoire.”

I wondered what kind of material this suave, cynical, reserved man could have produced—in other words, what was his undercurrent. I interrogated. To my surprise and consternation I had found at last the author of my pedestal-placed masterpiece.

“But why,” I said, “did you not keep on; why hide, deface, forget, a talent like yours?”

“Allowing, for the sake of argument,” he answered, “that I possessed talent to the degree you imply, I should still have been forced to my present attitude. I am not alone in this. I am convinced that the best writers (of course, with notable exceptions) are the people who never write, who could bring to the field varied experience, the results of travel, thought, and cultivation, but who are driven away by the knowledge that the wolf will have them if they attempt it. Notwithstanding the fact that there has never been a time when literature has been produced so prolifically, a man can only make a moderate competence, and that after years of weary uncertainty and a constant strain on the waiting nerves, and, even at the end, he gets but a meagre reward: lots of newspaper notoriety and a scanty bank account. I am not complaining; I looked the facts squarely in the face, and chose what I regarded as the only sensible solution. I could not conscientiously use literature as a safety-valve or time-passer, giving to the world the result of tired brain and over-wrought nerves; consequently, I sacrificed inclination to necessity, and have left my muse alone. However,”—and he was once more the worldling,—”I have reserved to myself the right to criticise; and when I see a young man of talent enter the field of letters, I conclude he is like a man about to marry, either a great hero or a great fool.”


Worth A Thousand Words # 10

Welcome to a new daily photo prompt

Worth A Thousand Words

Photo credit Public Domain Pictures @

Use the photo prompt above to find your inner muse and set it free. No limits on word count, genre, rating, etc. Let your imagination run wild.

To participate, simply write a story for your blog and either link back directly to this page or post your link in the comments.

Please use WATW as a tag so that I can find your stories easily if the pingbacks don’t work, or you forget to post a link in the comments.

Remember, no word limit, the longer the better, read what others have written, and most of all, HAVE FUN!