Day 11 - The Shrinking Garden

100 Day Writing Challenge

Day #11

Prompt : “The garden shrank at night.”

There was a once man in a land of famine who had pleased the king by his plentiful crops and saved the kingdom. The man was granted a single wish from the Oracle.

Upon deep consideration and with a cunning wit inherited from his parents, the man decided to wish for his garden to shrink during the evening and spring back to life during the day.

Thus, he carried his shrinking garden in his hat during the night as he traveled from one kingdom to another, presenting the yields of his garden to the kings and queens thereof, acquiring a bundle of wishes to be redeemed as he saw fit.

With wishes for riches in possessions and land, he became the wealthiest and most influential farmer in all the lands because of the garden that shrank at night.

-(c) Kevin Barrick

Comments

5 Books to Get Your Creativity Flowing!

Many people are curious how I became an indie author. Some ask because they want to join in on the fun; others are simply curious why I chose to self-publish rather than go the traditional route. Before I really begin, let me define what it means to be an indie author. There are two categories that people generally fall into. An indie author is someone 1. who publishes through an independent publisher (small publishing house as opposed to mainstream houses like Penguin or MacMillan), and 2. who self-publishes through services like Amazon KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing) or Ingram Spark. I fall into the second category where I have self-published through KDP. It is a very easy process and anyone can do it! (Caveat: due to the easy access, there are thousands upon thousands of books. If you think your book is quality level, then in order to stand out from the rest I recommend spending hours and hours on your cover if you can’t afford to pay someone. Obviously proofread and edit you

Holy Witches: A Salem Retelling

We were hunted for our spells. They accused us of using black magic; they torched our sisters for their involvement in witchcraft. Our flesh burnt while children and other villagers watched through the haze. We were monsters, deviants, devil-worshipers. We were the bane of the sanctity of our village. We were humanity’s last hope. Salem was a hallowed land, endowed by the auras of the ancient ones to protect the world from the dark void that threatened to devour all life. The void vacuumed the life from our sister planet, Mars, several centuries ago. Only we witches knew of the fate of the ancient world. We saw through the cosmos and mourned for Mars. We began practicing a holy art that would wrestle against the void. We sang enchantments beneath the full moon; we infused nature in our alchemy cauldrons. We sought to create, to nourish, to rejuvenate. We were the ambassadors to the sacred life that breathed in every part of Mother Earth. But the mortals of Salem were the

"I Can't Breathe": A Tribute

I can’t breathe. I buried my face into my mother’s shoulder. Her warmth gave me comfort, but the sounds outside the doors of my church chilled my blood. I could hear the chanting of the angry mob. I could smell the gasoline being thrown onto the building. A place of refuge against the horrors of hatred now became the crematory of the innocent. Smoke blackened the night sky, and the fires devoured all that was holy. My eyes watered. My flesh burned. I watched the figures of white cloaks lurk beyond the window, drinking in the sight of my brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers each succumbing to a death of hungry flames and unbridled hatred. Is this a dream? I can’t breathe. I grasped at the chains digging into my skin. My stomach lurched in rhythm to the mighty waves outside the ship. Death wafted all around me as my brothers lay in their own waste, one upon the other like a heap of rubbage. The strong hands of our captors hauled out the dead at my feet, mumbling under their breath a

Creativity Brewing

Search This Blog