Genre Scribes: Friday Fiction Writing Challenge History

Susan T Braithwaite Genre Scribes Challenge History

June 2019

21 June — Coffee

28 June — Zoo

July 2019

5 July — Backpack

12 July — Map

19 July — Call

26 July — Cardigan

August 2019

2 Aug — Program

9 Aug — Salesman

16 Aug — Wetsuit

23 Aug — Childhood

30 Aug — Prescription

September 2019

6 Sep — No Challenge this week

13 Sep — Luck

20 Sep — Texture

27 Sep — Goal

October 2019

4 Oct — Hope

11 Oct — Crime

18 Oct — Family

25 Oct — Airport

November 2019

1 Nov — Shopping

8 Nov — Estate

15 Nov — Tale

22 Nov — Ladder

29 Nov — Communication

December 2019

6 December — Lake

13 December — Charity

20 December — Literature

27 December — Village

January 2020

3 Jan — Damage (Amy and Kelvin 1)

10 Jan — Interview

17 Jan — Tennis

24 Jan — Cookie (Amy and Kelvin 2)

31 Jan — Dinner

February 2020

7 Feb — Politics

14 Feb — Celebration (Amy and Kelvin 3)

21 Feb — Bronze

28 Feb — Mirror (Amy and Kelvin 4)

March 2020

6 Mar — Nomination (Amy and Kelvin 5)

13 Mar — Catalogue (Amy and Kelvin 6)

20 Mar — Prestige (Amy and Kelvin 7)

27 Mar — No post this week

April 2020

3 Apr — Leash (Amy and Kelvin 8)

11 Apr — Treaty (Amy and Kelvin 9)

24 Apr — Extort (Amy and Kelvin 10)

May 2020

1 May — Plan (Amy and Kelvin 11)

8 May — Foreigner (Amy and Kelvin 12)

22 May — Partner (Amy and Kelvin 13)

June 2020

6 Jun — Eagle (Amy and Kelvin 14)

Note: While working on my novel, Genre Scribes is moving to once every two weeks.

19 Jun — Title (Amy and Kelvin 15)

July 2020

3 Jul — Path (Amy and Kelvin 16)

17 Jul — Paper (Amy and Kelvin 17)

46 Replies to “Genre Scribes: Friday Fiction Writing Challenge History”

  1. Welcome to Week 7 of the Friday Fiction Writing Challenge! Here’s a complete list of all the posts so far. Feel free to join in.

    This week’s random word is: Program.

    Oh, this is a fun word. There are so many ways to go with it–TV, schedule, computers…. I usually need to psych myself up to do these challenges, mainly because I’m forcing my brain to be creative on a strict timetable. Today, I’m chomping at the bit to get on with the first five-minute sprint.

    Here’s my first sprint (meandering and unedited):

    Martin pressed enter on the keyboard and waited.Nothing.The screen remained blank, no sign that the program was even running.This was not the time for a system fuck up. Everything was timed down to the last second; if it doesn’t run according to the plan, he might as well eat a bullet right now.The lights on the server unit flashed reds and oranges.Shit.He reached up and shoogled the external drive the man had given him. The lights changed to flickering green. Martin slumped against the wall and blew out the breath he’d been holding in.A progress bar appeared on the screen, 87% done. He checked his watch; time was running out fast—the guard’s shift change was almost over.The door at the end of the corridor groaned. Martin froze. The guard was early. Martin pulled out the gun he had tucked into his waistband. Why the hell had he brought a gun? He wasn’t prepared to use it. He wasn’t a killer—not knowingly at least.

    Okay, let me explain the word shoogled. Shoogle is a Scots word; it’s kind of like jiggle but less juddery. It’s hard to put it fully into English—each time I try to explain it my hand motions side to side as I repeatedly say, “See, shoogle.”

    One of the fun/difficult parts of doing these sprints is trying to translate what’s in my head (in Scots) and getting it onto the page in full English in the allotted time. At kin mak ye a wee bitty doolally 🤪

    Anyway… After a break, I re-read the sprint and found that this section grabbed my imagination: The guard was early.

    With my new prompt in hand, I set the timer for another five-minute session.

    Here’s my second sprint (basic editing):

    The guard was early. Amy squeezed her eyes shut. She was stuck. There were no windows in the basement, and the only way out was the door she came in. Hiding behind the lone desk wasn’t an option.Light from the guard’s flashlight glinted through the pane of security glass in the door. Amy scrambled across the floor to the door and flattened her body against the wall.The door swung open, almost hitting her before it clicked shut behind the guard as he stepped into the room.Amy held her breath as the guard bounced the beam of light around the room, his hand hovering near his Taser. She slipped off her shoes and crept up behind the man. She slammed a foot into the guard’s knee, forcing him to the ground, and relieved him of his Taser.

    I enjoyed writing the second sprint, but I like the first one better. There are far more story questions to ask and answer there, whereas the second one feels like it’s a story obstacle—one I’ll probably use down the line.

    I had a lot of fun challenging myself this week. Thanks for reading!

    HOW IT WORKS

    Don’t think too hard on the noun; just write about it for five minutes.Once the five minutes are up, walk away for about five/ten minutes.Now, come back to the text and re-read it,Pick out something that piques your interest and write about that for five minutes.Be courageous and post your results to your blog. (Both sets of writing sessions or just the one, it’s up to you.)RULES

    Complete the challenge on your blog before 1700 UTC of the following Friday.Link to the original prompt post and make sure to use the tag Genre Scribes so that we can see all the posts together in WP Reader.Your text must be fiction (preferably one you publish in (or plan to).No real-life stories.The text can be dialogue, an interior monologue, a scene, flash fiction, anything… so long as it’s fiction.Full information is on the Genre Scribes: Friday Fiction Writing Challenge page.

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  2. Welcome to #47 of the Friday Fiction Writing Challenge! Here’s a complete list of all the posts so far. Feel free to join in.

    Guess what? It’s Genre Scribes’s 1st anniversary! Fifty-two weeks ago today, I gathered up all my courage and posted my first response of the challenge.

    I started Genre Scribes as a way to show potential readers my style, and to force myself to post regularly and consistently—I’ve had multiple blogs over the last fifteen years and never got beyond ten posts on any of them.

    Over the weeks, other writers have joined in and graciously shared their work. One of the challenge’s unforseen benefits has been to introduce me to Chris Hall, a wonderful writer whose responses to each prompt are magickal. So, when you’ve finished reading this post, go have a read of Alys and Sparky’s adventures over on luna’s on line.

    I don’t think I’d have managed to keep the momentum going if I hadn’t found Amy and Kelvin. Their story has captured me to the point that I can’t stop until I hit THE END.

    With that in mind, let’s get back to Amy and Kelvin.

    This week’s random word is: Title

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    Amy couldn’t decide if she should be impressed or worried. Harvey hadn’t even blinked as he’d lied to the other man on the phone. Not that it mattered right now. The only thing that did was that the medivac was cancelled.

    “Grab anything we can use to cushion the truck bed,” Emma said as she came rushing back into the cabin.

    For such a brusque man, Harvey’s cabin had a lot of soft furnishings. They stripped the other sofa of its cushions, the armchairs, too, and ferried them to Emma’s pick-up that was backed up to the door.

    With the soft furnishings lining the hard, unforgiving base, it actually looked inviting, which was a good thing considering that was where she and Kelvin would be hiding as they all headed down into town.

    Amy pulled the backpack on, there was no way she was going to let the bag containing the box out of her sight, not after all they’d gone through to get it here.

    She bent down and touched Kelvin’s cheek, he was growing colder. “Hang in there,” she whispered.

    Harvey gripped her shoulder. “You ready?”

    Amy nodded, but she wasn’t ready. Icy fear coiled deep in her belly. What if we’re already too late?

    “I’ve got a room set up, but we need to move now before the shift change,” Emma said from the doorway.

    Harvey looped his arms under Kelvin’s. “Take a leg each, and be ready, he’s going to be a dead weight.”

    Amy shot him a look. “He’s still breathing.”

    “Not if you don’t hurry up,” Harvey muttered.

    Emma and Amy took their positions at Kelvin’s legs, and on Harvey’s count of three lifted Kelvin. Amy grunted with the sheer effort of manoeuvring him. It was like someone had turned gravity up.

    The three of them moved as one—one very rickety human wheelbarrow—toward the truck. Harvey eased Kelvin onto the soft layering before hopping up and hauling him the rest of the way. Once Harvey was down, Emma climbed up, making sure Kelvin was comfortable and secure for their short journey.

    Tension that had taken up residence in Amy’s shoulders ebbed enough that she could roll her neck without it being stiff. Now that help was here, she could stop worrying and allow herself to relax for a moment.

    Metal hitting off metal sounded behind her. Tightness reemerged in Amy’s shoulders as she turned to see what the hell Harvey was doing. Wishing she hadn’t.

    Harvey moved with brisk efficiency, stuffing a holdall with rifles, shotguns, handguns, and an assortment of smaller objects she couldn’t even begin to guess to their use.

    “Is all that really necessary?” She knew it was a stupid question the moment she asked it.

    “You tell me.” Harvey tossed some cameras and other gadgets, and a worrying amount of ammunition into the bag before zipping it. He heaved the bag onto his shoulder. “You need to give me the box.”

    Amy backed away, clutching the shoulder straps, suddenly wary.

    Harvey huffed. “You can’t take it with us. We’re going to be sitting ducks, and I can’t keep all of us safe and worry about the box, too.”He was right, there were only the three of them. Doubt and indecision tore at her.

    “No one knows about this place, that’s why I arranged to meet Kelvin here. The title is in my daughter’s name, a name that isn’t connected to me in any way,” his lips thinned, and his eyes softened a fraction, “her mother left it to her.”

    It all sounded believable, but she’d already seen how good a liar he was. Though, she didn’t think he was lying about his daughter.

    “You’ve got to trust someone.”

    To Amy’s shock, she realised that she did, she trusted Kelvin. And, if Kelvin trusted Harvey, she would too. “Okay.” She handed him the bag and watched as he put it in a hidden floor safe.

    “Let’s go,” Harvey said.

    Amy crawled into the back of the truck between Kelvin and the bag of weapons. She found his cold hand and clutched it as the tonneau cover shut them into darkness.

    Amy and Kelvin’s story continues on Friday 3rd July 2020.

    Thanks for reading. And as always, take care and stay safe! 😍

    Feature Image by me–guess who got a letter board!!!

    How To Join In:

    Using the prompt, write a maximum of 500-ish words of fiction. (This can be a scene, flash fiction, some dialogue, a bit of description, etc.)Link to this post in your post.Add the tags ffwc, genre scribes, and the genre your post is in.The deadline is 6 PM the following Friday.Full information is on the Genre Scribes: Friday Fiction Writing Challenge page.

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  3. Welcome to #48 of the Friday Fiction Writing Challenge! Here’s a complete list of all the posts so far. Feel free to join in.

    It’s been a busy (and fun) fortnight–working flat out on Working the Asset–but I’m so happy to have a wee break so I can catch up with Amy and Kelvin.

    This week’s random word is: Path

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    When had she become claustrophobic? Probably around the time Harvey closed her into the truck bed with Kelvin and the mini-arsenal at her side.

    The truck slammed into yet another pothole. Amy bit her fist as her back screamed. At least the pain was a distraction from the fumes coming in.

    At last, the truck slowed to a crawl—bang, bang, bang, hammered from the cab. Going by the force of the thumps, Harvey was letting her know they were at the small local hospital. The vehicle stopped, and Amy arched her back against the patchwork of soft furnishings beneath her. As much cushioning as they’d put down, it was still far from comfortable.

    Before she could move, there was a scuffling of stones at the driver’s side. She stilled. It was probably a work friend of Emma’s. But she still had the sensation they were on a hill, and there was an air of tension surrounding her, tickling her nape.

    She strained to hear over the idling engine. “Something wrong?” Harvey called from the cab.

    More stones. “Gotta tree down around the next bend,” a man other than Harvey said, “could use some help to clear a path.”
Harvey cut the engine, the truck swaying as he got out. The crunch of gravel diminishing as the two men headed away from the vehicle.

    A tree blocking their way was the last thing they needed. She squeezed Kelvin’s cool hand. “We’re almost there —”
A soft crunch came from beyond the truck. There it was again, closer this time. It wasn’t an animal, these were slow, deliberate steps—the careful pace of someone creeping toward the truck.

    Her heart raced, and her breathing was shallow. Someone was coming to kill them, and Harvey had no idea. If she tried to warn Emma, it could get them all killed.

    She reached for the holdall stuffed with weapons, but something shifted inside, making a clattering sound that filled the coffin-like area.

    Shit. Amy squeezed her eyes shut. The creeper was drawing closer. Think, dammit!

    Kelvin’s gun. Her eyes flew open. He’d still had it on him at the cabin. She sent out a silent prayer to the Gods. She released Kelvin’s hand and patted him down as gently as she could so as not to aggravate his knife wound.

    The cold, hard metal of the handgun she’d feared would be the death of her was in his shoulder holster. She gripped the weapon in her shaking hands and aimed at where she assumed the creeper would appear.

    One of the cover’s retaining elastic cords twanged as it was eased off the vehicle’s body, then another, and another.

    Point and shoot, that’s all she had to do. More cords. Point and shoot — no, no, no! That only worked if the safety was off. With fumbling fingers, she flicked it off.

    The cover was yanked back, flooding the compartment with harsh daylight. Amy squinted against the light reflecting off the snow, gun aimed at a slight man who watched her from cold, vicious eyes.

    Amy pulled the trigger.

    Click, click, click.

    The sound twisted her stomach. The creeper smirked and pointed his gun at Kelvin, but before he could do anything, his face fell. A faint red mist drifted behind him in the light breeze, immediately followed by a muffled pop. Amy watched with sick fascination as the man slid from view.

    She’d been so fixated on the dead man that she hadn’t heard Harvey approach. He covered her hands in one of his big paws and took the gun from her. Amy lay motionless as Harvey reached into the holdall and pulled out another weapon. He placed it in her hands.“Try this one next time, it’s loaded.”

    She nodded, unable to speak.

    Harvey pulled the cover back across but paused before closing her into the darkness once more. “You did good.”

    Amy and Kelvin’s story continues on Friday 17rd July 2020.

    Thanks for reading. And as always, take care and stay safe! 😍

    Feature Image by Scosche from Pexels

    How To Join In:

    Using the prompt, write a maximum of 500-ish words of fiction. (This can be a scene, flash fiction, some dialogue, a bit of description, etc.)Link to this post in your post.Add the tags ffwc, genre scribes, and the genre your post is in.The deadline is 6 PM the following Friday.Full information is on the Genre Scribes: Friday Fiction Writing Challenge page.

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