Author: Derek R Henig

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The Word

Taradiddle

[ tar-uh-did-l ]

Noun

  1. A small lie.
  2. Fib.

Let’s Write…

** Either a story beginning, a story ending, a piece of flash fiction, a poem–inspired by the word, taradiddle, where does it take me? Where does it take you?

The village was in an uproar! Bells rang in alarm, and people filled the streets, speaking angrily to one another, not trying to whisper. 

 “Have you heard?” one uttered. 

 “It can’t be true!” another responded. 

 “Oh, God, I hope not,” said the first.

 Then, there he was. The one they’d been speaking about, the causer of the uproar. Flanked by two police officers, a young man walked down the cobblestone street through the center of the village. The angry, hurt voices went silent as they watched.

 The boy was barely sixteen, and he looked to all the faces staring as if hoping for a lifeline. No words of protest came, no declarations of, “let the boy go!”

 Soon, the entire town was in the simple, wooden courthouse. 

 “Thomas,” the Judge spoke from atop his perch. “You have been brought here to answer the charges of a most heinous crime. Do you have anything to say before we begin?”

 The boy looked up, but before he could speak, the attorney sitting at the opposing table interjected. 

 “Your honor,” he said. “Might we simply hear from the witness first? Rather than allow more tomfoolery from this boy?”

 The Judge seemed to deliberate and then nodded. An old woman took a seat beside the Judge’s bench, and the Judge instructed her to tell her story.

 “Well, it was like this,” she began. “Thomas told me–in fact, I have it in a letter–that he was going to bring me a blueberry pie today. Just to be nice.” 

 “Then, what happened?” The Judge asked. 

 “He brought it over, but when I cut into the pie, it wasn’t pie! It was… a cake!” 

 The courthouse erupted into shouts of rage and cries of pain. 

 “I’ve heard enough,” the Judge said, banging his gavel. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” 

 Thomas looked around worried, and confused. “I just thought it would be funny–a laugh.”

 A woman fainted in the back of the courthouse at his words.

 “Take him away,” the Judge said. “Let us hope he learns that some lies are simply sinful!”

Notes/Thoughts/Ideas

 Ok, two things. First, I was tired this morning, and I thought something more comedic would wake me up a bit. Second, I love pie. Cake is, eh. Pie is great. Any questions? Lol. 

 So, this is not a story that’s meant for anything more than what it is right here. But, as always, I’m sure we can make it into something. A satiric TV show where this boy Thomas keeps getting into trouble by ridiculous means.

 It could be funny… maybe? 

What do you think of Taradiddle?

 Cake or pie? Crucial question. Answer correctly : )

Leave your thoughts, your own story beginning/ending, flash-fiction, or whatever in the comments! Where did taradiddle or my story take you?

If you liked this, check out the comedy short story The Three-Legged Knight.

Today’s word is from Dictionary.com.

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The Word

Perforce

[ per-fawrs, -fohrs ]

Adverb

  1. Out of necessity.

Let’s Write…

** Either a story beginning, a story ending, a piece of flash fiction, a poem–inspired by the word, perforce, where does it take me? Where does it take you?

Nick looked over to the new kid. There was something off about him. Why does he look so…? Nick tried to find the words, but couldn’t place what was so off. He turned away and went back to work.

 Nick, along with another worker, Frell, heaved a sizeable wooden beam upon their shoulders. Then, they carried it across the lumber yard. One foot in front of the other–Nick repeated in his head. Even after years, Nick still found it helpful to think that way. 

 They got to the next stage of the building process and dropped their beam upon a large machine. It would take the rough edges and make them smooth, and splitting the wood into two boards for building. Back to the stack of beams to do it all over again.

 Nick caught sight of the new kid again, and he figured what was wrong with him now. It was his mouth–curved upwards, and his eyes were wide and bright instead of dark and down. It gave him chills. 

At their lunch break, Nick approached him…

…The answers he got, though, didn’t make him feel any better.  

 “Wait, so you want to be here?” Nick said.

 “I do,” said the new guy.

 Nick didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t right, it didn’t fit. They were all assigned their jobs and worked because they had to–because it was what the country needed. 

 The new guy shrugged his shoulders, stood up, and went back to work. Nick didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, and he didn’t realize he was shaking. It wasn’t anger for this kid, but some other emotion.

 Something wasn’t right.

Notes/Thoughts/Ideas

 A society where we all get work assignments and do our jobs for “the greater good.” What I imagined here in this little story–not sure I quite executed on it today–was that Nick has this awakening. 

 The new guy is an anomaly. Nick sees someone who is doing what they want to do and how it makes that person feel. Naturally, he’s going to want that feeling. Or, dark twist, all the workers are going to want the new guy to share in their misery.

 So, it could be the start of a revolution; or, it could be a very dystopian and dark ending where they force the new guy into a job he doesn’t like. Now, everyone’s unhappily the same. Cringe-worthy! That’s not a story I’d like to read or write, though.

 I’m a happy ending kind of guy. My wife and I watched Little Women last night, and it begins with a quote from Louisa May Alcott that sums it up:

 “I’ve had lots of troubles, so I write jolly tales.”

What do you think of Perforce?

 Do you prefer jolly tales or dark, twisty endings?

Leave your thoughts, your own story beginning/ending, flash-fiction, or whatever in the comments! Where did perforce or my story take you?

If you liked this, check out a similar idea in Nature.

Today’s word is from Wordsmith.org.

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The Word

Alienist

[ eyl-yuh-nist, ey-lee-uh- ]

Noun

  1. Psychiatrist

Let’s Write…

** Either a story beginning, a story ending, a piece of flash fiction, a poem–inspired by the word, alienist, where does it take me? Where does it take you?

What does it matter to them what I think? What I see or believe? I’m not preaching anything or trying to teach anything. It’s just a little confusing sometimes which reality I’m pulling memories from. 

 I’m walking down a trail in a park, Central Park in New York City. My hand is holding Sarah’s, the sun is bright, and she’s happy. What’s not to be happy about on a day like this? 

 “I love you,” she says, prompted by nothing. 

 I smile down to her, “I love you too.” 

 What a great day that was! Only when I bring up the memory to Sarah, she reminds me that we’ve never been to New York. She’s worried. It’s her dream to go to New York.

I look around Sarah’s art space, now a spare bedroom.

 “Sarah,” I call to her. “What happened to all your paintings? Did you put them in storage?” 

 She looks at me with a scolding glance. “Why would you say that? There’s no need to be mean.”

 I’m stunned. Mean? I was just curious. Then, it hits me. Sarah hadn’t picked up her paintbrush since her mom died eight years ago. Wrong life. Different Sarah. 

 A dozen mistakes like that, and I now sit surrounded by four plain white walls. People don’t like hearing about their hidden potential, apparently. Oh, well. It could be worse. Where shall I go next?

 I think I’ll go walk in Central Park again. Yes, that’s one of my favorite memories. 

Notes/Thoughts/Ideas

 There could be a really cool story here. Someone who’s able to see multiple dimensions, multiple lives of himself. Perhaps the ability extends to the lives of others as well. 

 What if the story started with this guy in a mental institution, and then we start going into all these past memories. Only towards the middle do we realize that all the memories are of different lives and worlds. That maybe he’s not crazy, but gifted. 

 The whole time we’re thinking we’re following memories that lead to his institutionalization, and in a way, it’s true. It just turns out that the reasons in “this reality” get revealed later. Like how Sarah hasn’t painted in eight years and so on. 

 We could throw in a threat or conflict of some kind where that gift of his becomes needed. Perhaps by knowing the potential lives of others, he can help solve a crime. 

 There’s an episode of Fringe like that. They use what they know about a man in one dimension to catch a killer in the other dimension. Love that show! There’s a cool twist in that episode, and I won’t spoil it : ) 

 As always… oh, the places we can go! 

What do you think of Alienist?

 Sound like a fun story to read? Is he crazy or gifted?

Leave your thoughts, your own story beginning/ending, flash-fiction, or whatever in the comments! Where did alienist or my story take you?

If you liked this, check out Ripples.

Today’s word is from Merriam-Webster.

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The Word

Tiffin

[ tif-in ]

Noun

  1. A light meal, especially lunch.
  2. A type of lunchbox.

Let’s Write…

** Either a story beginning, a story ending, a piece of flash fiction, a poem–inspired by the word, tiffin, where does it take me? Where does it take you?

“Arencha gonna eat, Ted?” said Barney, before he stuffed his sandwich into his mouth, biting off more than it could hold.

 “Not hungry,” Ted said, watching Barney chomp away with his mouth open, bits falling to his plate. Ted looked down at his own sandwich, feeling nauseous.

 “Whassa matter?” More bits of sandwich fell to Barney’s plate. 

 “Nothing,” Ted lied. 

 Barney didn’t question him further. He shrugged and swallowed the giant mass of partially chewed sandwich with an audible “gulp,” followed by a slurp of his beer. 

 Why did I even agree to this?–Ted thought…

… Far more urgent matters filled his mind, but he also knew the answer. Maintain appearances–he answered himself–business as usual. 

 Ted picked up his sandwich and took a small bite. The nausea was still there, but at least it gave him time to think. Barney was already chewing on another massive wad of bread and meat, his lunch almost gone. 

 “Hows Maar?” Barney asked, bread falling from his mouth. 

 “Mary’s fine…” Ted answered as casually as he could, yet his heart raced. Did Barney know something? No–he thought. It’s a perfectly normal question to ask about his wife. Barney’s eyes though–and was that a smirk he saw?

 “Thas good ta hear.” 

 Ted saw it again. There was definitely a glint in Barney’s eyes like he was enjoying an inside joke. Could his blackmailer really be this buffoon? This jackass who he ate lunch with every day at work? Suddenly, a furious appetite stole over Ted, and he bit off a large chunk of his sandwich. 

 He was going to find out. He was going to turn the tides on his tormentor. Perhaps–he thought–I can shut Barney’s fat mouth once and for all. The thought made him smile. 

 Today was going to be a good day–he thought.

Notes/Thoughts/Ideas

 The idea I started with was that Ted was being blackmailed and unknowingly eating lunch with his blackmailer. 

 I imagined a revelation at the end of this scene where Ted discovers this truth and is shocked by it. Afraid of the blackmailer. The blackmailer in full control, maybe even revealing himself to Ted to instill more fear. 

 Either way, I imagined it ending with Ted being in further desperation and fear. Yet, as I wrote Barney’s character, the strong desire to “shut his fat mouth,” stole over myself! Lol. 

 Writing his disgusting chewing, his accent, and picturing him in my mind. All of it made me want to give Ted some power. I liked how that came through gaining his appetite back. A simple visual of strength returning in himself. I thought that was nice and clean. 

 The story can go a lot of places. Maybe we want Ted to be victorious; perhaps what he’s being blackmailed for is actually really horrible, and we don’t want him to win; or, how does walking this dark path change him? Maybe this scene, this life event, is what turned Ted into a serial killer? It all depends on the story you want to write.

 That’s enough from me, though…

What do you think of Tiffin?

 Which direction would you like to see the story take? Did you also desire to shut Barney’s mouth? Lol. 

Leave your thoughts, your own story beginning/ending, flash-fiction, or whatever in the comments! Where did tiffin or my story take you?

If you like a darker twist, check out The Devil’s Tri-Tone.

Today’s word is from Word Genius.

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Categories
The Word

Breviloquent

[ bre-vil-uh-kwuhnt ]

Adjective

  1. Speaking or expressed in a concise or terse style. 
  2. Using brevity of speech.

Let’s Write… 

** Either a story beginning, a story ending, a piece of flash fiction, a poem–inspired by the word, breviloquent, where does it take me? Where does it take you?

Georgia sat at her desk, straight like a board, with her gloved hands resting delicately on the table before her. Madam Tess stalked slowly up and down the rows of girls holding her thin, bamboo rod reciting the day’s lesson. 

 “Speak wisely, or not at all,” said Madam Tess.

 A new girl, sitting just in front of Georgia, gazed out the window. Suddenly, yet not unexpected, a loud “crack!” filled the room as the bamboo rod came down upon the girl’s gloved hands. She screamed in pain, and Madam Tess said nothing, but just stared at the girl. The new girl put her hands back on the desk slowly, eyes fixed ahead, and Madam Tess continued.

 “A woman is only ever a voice of reason.” 

 Georgia’s mind went to the new girl, but she didn’t glance over in case Madam Tess turned around. She remembered her own first days at the school and her naivety. 

 The leather gloves that all the girls wore was a well-known mark of someone who attended St. Margaret’s Academy. Rumor had it, they never took them off. Once a girl entered the school, she’d wear her gloves for the rest of her life.

 That’s precisely why Georgia’s family sent her there. She could go to school, have friends, live her life, and no one would ever see her hands.

 After her first day at the Academy, it became clear that the gloves were there to soften the blows of the rod, and to hide marks of broken fingers. Everyone held secrets apparently. It wasn’t just her.

Notes/Thoughts/Ideas

 The idea here, I think, has awesome potential. A rough school where all the girls and future women wear gloves always. A perfect chance to instill a little mystery as to what Georgia is hiding. 

 She’s able to hide in plain sight, no one would question her for wearing gloves. But, of course, the gloves will have to come off at some point. When she embraces her identity as not a girl of this Academy, but something else entirely.

 I imagine her hands hold some visible magical signs. Tattoos she was born with that move around. Or, maybe they glow. They’re green. It could be anything!

 So, the mystery is first just what is she hiding under the gloves? There’s tension in the story as we know, at some point, the gloves will come off. What will that mean for Georgia? Then, there’s the mystery of what those glowing green hands mean? Is she a witch? A demon? 

 Easy to make a conflicted romance as a result too. Lots of cool places this can go, and when I started, I really didn’t love the idea. Now, I’m really into it! 

What do you think of Breviloquent? 

 Does Georgia have a story to tell? Where would you take it? 

Leave your thoughts, your own story beginning/ending, flash-fiction, or whatever in the comments! Where did breviloquent or my story take you?

If you want to read something with a little magic, check out my short story The Three-Legged Knight.

Today’s word is from Dictionary.com.

Get THE WORD Every Day!

Enjoy a One-Minute Story, Learn a New Word, and Create With Me! Delivered to you every Tuesday and Thursday morning.