September 12th, 2011 / 4:05 pm
Contests
Ken Baumann
Contests
GIVEAWAY: Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day
Leave a comment to enter and I’ll randomly pick a winner soon. If you want: write a three sentence story. Err spooky.
Tags: Ben Loory, giveaway, stories for the nighttime and some for the day
Two young men were walking along the road when they saw a big white duck, behind her were three yellow ducklings chirping along and one gray and brown duckling with a small white afro following about a feet behind the others. One of the men said, “Look, Al, that last duck is the ugly duckling,” and laughed. The other responded, “Yeah, just like your wife.” The End.
Tentacle curls around ankle. Suckers grip; coil tugs. Damn!–stove burners on??
Troy entered a comment on HTMLGIANT, hoping to be selected for a copy of Ben Loory’s Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day. It was mostly because of the story “Octopus” and Troy’s love of all things cephalopod. Okay, it was almost entirely that.
The octopus grabbed the UFO with its veiny fingers. It brought the thing close to its face and yelled at the aliens inside, “Welcome to earth. You guys are fucked.”
Lisette thought she knew what the world was about, with all its foibles
and nuances. Then her dad died, her heart broke and then, magically,
instead of time healing all wounds [as well-intentioned but naive and
useless friends and “family” (quotes intentional) reassured me would
work] Lisette found that perfect man who was perfect because he wasn’t.
Instead of perfection, Lisette’s dream man taught her the one thing
she’d forgotten as life’s sadly underrated joys–LAUGHTER–and that, as Robert Frost wrote, has made all the difference.
Once there was a contest. Someone suggested writing three sentence stories to enter. I entered.
I’m suspicious of my wife. She hides my underwear. I sleep naked.
cyst grows under an awning, attaches to someone during rain, unnoticed- Hereditary? – while
house on hill floods, nothing else does.
“we don’t got a dog so don’t worry about it,” he said. I held the gun to the sky and looked down the barrel, mapping.
On the day of his high school graduation, Count Chocula decided to tell his father of his career plans. His father shook his head. “You can’t be cereal.”
Karl Marx and George Washington sat in the Big Brother Head of Household room and discussed who to vote out of the house. “Hitler,” Marx said. “No,” said George Washington, “we need him.”
“Owls rotate
from the base of the shoulders, chameleons pivot their eyes, but humans are
free to roam at will.” Edgar copied the professor’s words with care, weighing
their significance only until they represented in written form what had been
conveyed moments earlier. The professor, a small, bearded man with thick
glasses and an accent to match, continued to extol wisdom through the
microphone; Edgar, however, had begun to write on a fresh piece of paper, one
completely blank, and the animal kingdom seemed to grow more ferocious and
complex by the minute.
I REFUSE TO PLAY BY THE MAN’S RULES
There once was a boy who, coming upon a book giveaway for a book by an author he was unfamiliar with, a giveaway that required only the slightest effort to enter, nevertheless hesitated. He wondered what the author’s prose was like, and set out on a mission to find this information. After a few moments of googling, the boy found out what the author’s writing was like, and he decided against entering the giveaway.
The octopus is old. It finds your arm’s texture curious. But doesn’t eat it because it’s an octopus.
Loosey goosey. Loosey goosey flossy wassi. Catamaran jiggidy jam.
Jiggle. Jiggle. MMM-carpet.
He kissed her gently knowing that it would be the last one. There were groans and gasps from the procession. He quietly took his seat and let the rest of well-wishers say goodbye to his dead wife.
Ben said you’re lucky to have a wife who loves you. I hate the way he leaves three buttons open on his shirt. It wouldn’t be so bad, I think, if he had chest hair.
Stories for nighttime and some for the day to give you the juice to love or to slay the the maddening critic inside your head that says, after proofing your own stories, Dead! So why, you might ask, love the critic? I’ll tell ya: to write better shit that someday I might sell ya.
As I’m getting ready to sleep, I spot the motherfucker on the wall behind the desk, a tad smaller than the palm of my hand. Feeling it’s stare on my back, I run to the other room to get my bug catcher, only to find that my eight-legged nightmare decided to disappear while I was gone. I turn off the lights, hide under the sheets and question my sanity as I hear a tiny voice that says “mwahaha”.
is anyone else watching the dolphins game? should i call it the patriots game instead? would that make you smile?
He woke in the night, unsure who slept beside him. When he looked around the room, the pale face
in the corner looked back. He moved and
pulled closer to the stranger beside him, while the wind shook everything
down.
i don’t know why the lines are broken. not intended.
I like Ben Loory’s book, Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day, so I am posting a comment to win a copy. :) Nothing creative, just opportunistic. ;)
someone could make a spooky three-‘sentence’ tale of labatard’s new show
boo
sheesk
What time is it Mr. Fox?
but still the same, nice
First the scientists came, and then the aliens. Their attempts to communicate were somehow embarrassing. The octopus felt a little sorry for everyone.
“Its just me and my trillions,” the 10-year-old dad said before spitting a macaroni noodle into his wallet. The Velcro that used to hold the bright red wallet shut was ruined with hair, maple syrup, and a smeared ant. “Its just me and my quadrillion billions,” the 10-year-old dad said to no one.
Um, I want it?
Beginning. Middle. End.
I’m suspicious of my husband. He hides his underwear. He sleeps naked.
Hi Ken. Hi HTMLGiant. I still read this web page.
I wanted to leave a comment. So I wrote the best three sentence story ever. I still didn’t win the book.
I’m drunk. My friend, he just drank some poison. How do I wake up from this.
He rigged his old school video game system to a telescopic lense so that he could play “Asteroids” while looking at actual asteroids. The real belt made for snazzier graphics than the original, but it was no match for the latest game systems. He coughed up more clammy quarters and tipped the universe handsomely anyway.
In a pocket of a pair of thrift store jeans, you discover a plastic Easter egg. You open it and inside is a note which
reads, “You have just released a little demon into the world — feel guilty?” Move
ahead three spaces for you are among the chosen ones.
The woman had heard great things about a book, and so she
bought it. It was filled with people,
ducks, houses, televisions, rocks, aliens, spoons…. and silence. When she finished reading the book, she shed
one tear before crawling between the covers; she was never seen again.
I could win this – if only I wasn’t so lazy. If I didn’t have ADHD. Or could quote A D Jameson from memory.
Once i read ‘ The Graveyard’ and i translated it. I looked for Ben’s other stories and found ‘The Pig’ and translated it . A week ago ,i recieved two copies of ‘Stories for Nightime And Other the Day .Now, I’ am reading the book and my son has just told me: -Tell me Dad. How did you get the book?
– Read Ben’s stories and you’ll get your copy..
Once i read ‘The graveyard’ and i translated it. Then, i searched for Ben’s other stories and i found ‘The Pig’. I translated it too.A week ago , i received tow copies of ‘ Stories for Nightime And Some for The Day. Now, i’am reading all the book and my son has just told me:
– Hey dad! How did you get Ben’s book?
– Just read his stories whereever you find them and you’ll get your copy.
One time, there was alien invasion… And the ocean creatures, led by the octopus, came to the rescue! And the earth was safe again! —the end—
Two women stood by their respective telephones. Somewhere, the men spoke of their daughters like racehorses. In the end, Flint was real–a cat–like always.
Once i read ‘ The Graveyard’ and translated it.Then i read ‘ The Pig’ and treanslated it. You can’t translated a story you don’t enjoy.Do you? A week ago, i received tow copies of Ben’s Some Stories for Daytime And Sàme for the Day. Great! couldn’t beleive it.Now, i am reding the book and my son has just asked me:
– Hey dad! Who’s Ben?
– A great short story writer, i told my son.
Yeah. Ben Loory’s Stories for Nightime And Some for The Day make feel you are reading a master .
One i read Ben’s The Graveyard and translated it.Then i read his ‘The pig’ and translated it too. You can’t translate a story you don’t enjoy. Do you? A week ago i received two copies of Some stories for Nighttime And Some for The Day. Ohmy God. Great. couldn-t beleived it. Couldn’t beleive two signed copies. Now i am reading ‘The Book’ and my son has just told me:
– Hey dad! Who’s Ben loory?
– a Great talented short story writer, i said.
Yeah. Reading Ben’s book make feel you are reading a masterpiece.
My dog sleeps on the love seat now, curled up like I used to
be there, smearing his drooling jowls over the microfiber. I’d like to move him
but I don’t dare. If I win this book, I’ll read on the floor.
OK, now one more time, with the-other-f-word:
“As I’m getting ready to sleep, I spot it: a tad smaller than the palm of my hand, on the wall behind my desk. Feeling its stare behind my back, I run to the other room to get my bug catcher, only to find that my eight-legged nightmare decided to disappear while I was gone. I turn off the lights, hide under the sheets and question my sanity while I hear a tiny voice that will haunt me through the night: ‘Mwahahaha’.”
Umm…What? Huh?
IN THE MORNING THERE WAS A PALE GREEN GLOW OVER THE HORIZON. A BAT WAS BEGINNING TO FLY. THEN A GHOST WANDERED IN.
i haven’t left my attic bedroom in three days. it seems like it’s real nice outside. dead always.
I’m suspicious of my neighbors. I hide his underwear. She still wears a sleeping bag to bed.
–by stabbing yourself, Juliet.
I’m on my lunch break so I don’t have time to come up with a witty 3-sentences so here is my witty-less comment because I reallyreallyreally want that book. :)
She spent a good ten minutes trying to think of something to impress all the anonymous strangers that might read her comment. But then she thought that the comments that looked like they had been written to impress all the anonymous strangers were the worst of all the comments. And that’s how she stopped caring and learned to love the bomb.
Wanna be a winner. Win.
After days of rain the clouds finally broke and endless angels came pouring out of the blue sky. They filled the world, yea, even the smallest corner, with their wings and swords and pungent ethereal bodies, pressing everything to death and oil and dust. The sky is completely clear now but the angels keep on coming, until finally the earth breaks, spilling oceans of rapidly cooling magma into the cherub-belching void.
The city in the morning appears even more majestic. The fireman made this trip down the Kennedy hundreds of time previously but this morning’s view struck him as particularly beautiful. He was unaware that this would be the final sunrise he would experience as his Crown Victoria hurtled him toward a seemingly ordinary daybreak.
I’m good-neighborly toward my suspicions. I eroticize their underpinnings. I sleep hidden.
services should always throw exceptions and never return fail codes, aliens attempt a water landing as octopi practice question marks
Here is my three-sentence story: I read this book and it is wonderful in the most interesting way. The book I read was from the library. I want my own so I can read it whenever I want.
She walked across the bay, the soles of her feet slapping the surface of the water. “Keep your tentacles off my feet!” she ordered. He did not.
An estranged aristocrat lived in a ruined castle ensconced by misty crags and moors. I embarked on this lair’s only route: a winding path choked with nettles, grass, hydrangeas, forsythia, and also it choked me too. Am I creeping you out yet.
He had just shit his pants. Or was it shat? He wasn’t sure.
“Crap!” The bee said as he fell off the Daffodil. “These things are too slippery, and my knees are getting weak. Why should I get the pollen, while the missus eats and sleeps?”
i’m reading this book right now.
The family sat on the stools inside, their feet nestled among the water jugs and canned goods. If you think it’s still out there, why don’t you be the one to take a look. Would you look, if you were me.
If I win this contest my life will be better. Even. Better.
You win. Email me your address. ken@kenbaumann.com
life lessons learned
I’m suspicious of my sleep. I hide in its underwear. My dog sleeps naked, alone.