Sorry and Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike


*Sorry guys.  I’m actually on the mend.  At least today, for the first time in three weeks, I woke up with a clear head.  But the overdue short story is still not finished, the house looks like Pompeii after the volcano, and I am trying to do three things at once, so I forgot this.  I have a couple of books to promo, but they’ll get done next week.  I just can’t do the finicky work right now. I’ll add them next week.  For now, here’s the vignette, and I’ll be back tomorrow – SAH*

Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike

So what’s a vignette? You might know them as flash fiction, or even just sketches. We will provide a prompt each Sunday that you can use directly (including it in your work) or just as an inspiration. You, in turn, will write about 50 words (yes, we are going for short shorts! Not even a Drabble 100 words, just half that!). Then post it! For an additional challenge, you can aim to make it exactly 50 words, if you like.

We recommend that if you have an original vignette, you post that as a new reply. If you are commenting on someone’s vignette, then post that as a reply to the vignette. Comments — this is writing practice, so comments should be aimed at helping someone be a better writer, not at crushing them. And since these are likely to be drafts, don’t jump up and down too hard on typos and grammar.

If you have questions, feel free to ask.

Your writing prompt this week is: mature.

Oh, yeah, and Happy Father’s Day!

25 thoughts on “Sorry and Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike

  1. Mother Dragon: Son! Stop acting like a 64 year old! You’re a mature 200 year old!

  2. The mistake most people made was that they didn’t give the magic time to mature. It needed to age like wine. Castors today were too impatient. They just mixed ingredients together with a few words or hand twitches and then pour the slapdash spell into a bottle and sold it. No one took the time to craft things.

  3. Brian slammed down his empty can of beer in disgust. Mark just raised an eybrow questioningly and waited for the rant to come. It didn’t take long.
    “What is it with all these woman that are more girls in action than proper ladies?”
    “Another bad date?”
    “You could say that,” Brian muttered morosely.
    “I keep telling you that you should date someone that’s closer to your age,” Mark pointed out.
    Brian rolled his eyes, “I was, for some reason most of them just aren’t mature enough it seems to be serious about anything.”

  4. The vintner in an off-the-rack suit had the gall to drone on about how important that his grapes should be matured in the right oak barrels. His brown bleary eyes looked into mine and I knew he wasn’t going to pay the bill.
    “I’ll see you in court then,” I said.

  5. “Survey Team #1742. Your report on the “Terrans” says they are `[A] bright, rambunctious and rapidly developing species, inventive and showing great potential.` Any additional observations?”

    “Yes, Victor. Their development is unusually rapid, especially considering the briefness of their lifespans. I strongly recommend they be quarantined until they can mature.”


    Am I mature?
    I am not sure.

    I do my work
    and do not shirk,
    at least not much
    for chores and such.
    The harder things
    that living brings
    can wait a day
    before I pay
    attention to
    what has come due.
    They all get done
    just one by one.

    And tho I vent
    at time I’ve spent
    to do things right,
    still late at night,
    it brings me pride
    down deep inside
    that I can cope.
    I’m not a dope.

    But when I play
    at end of day
    my inner child
    runs free and wild
    and brings me dreams.
    Those times it seems
    I have no cares,
    no “be awares”
    and when I wake
    I have to take
    a moment to
    remember who
    I am.

    My task
    is now to ask
    “Am I mature?”
    I am. I’m sure.

    Are you?

    Sometimes the muse just smiles. 😉

    1. I hesitate to declare Victor Mature as a not-very-good actor if only because of his Doc Holliday in John Ford’s first post-war (WWII) picture, 1946’s My Darling Clementine:

      Given the right role and director, Mature was capable of surprisingly good performance.

      1. The following year Mature turned in a strong lead performance for Henry Hathaway in Kiss of Death, although the film is today best remembered for Richard Widmark’s film debut in an Best Supporting Actor Oscar nominated performance:

        Mature was an actor well-suited to film noir’s demands but apparently grew more attracted to golf than acting.

  7. “You’ve changed from nine years old to twenty-five. Matured perhaps?”
    “Ugh. That makes me sound like wine, or cheese, or a bill that has come due.”
    “No, I’m pretty clear that you are a woman.”
    “That’s worse. Mature woman is a euphemism for overripe or middle-aged.”
    He laughed. “You’re annoyed so it won’t matter what I say. I’ll let Simon deal with you.”

  8. Nigel Slim-Howland listened to Jenkins scolding Gwendolyn, reminding her of her duties as a professional maid and admonishing her for her immaturity. He knew it was only a show for the human audience; real correction s would be delivered via software patches and firmware upgrades.

    That made him sad, somehow.

  9. Miki passed the bowl to Jot, who took a sip of broth but resumed gazing at the nighttime sky.

    “Making a wish?” Miki asked.

    “Maybe,” replied Jot, softly.

    “Can you tell me?”

    “I wish for us to make it through this winter,” said Jot. And the next. To be grownups.”

  10. By the way, my middle daughter wrote on my Facebook timeline this morning: “Thank you for being a better father than Abraham.”

    My kid’s a smartass.

        1. I never thought about it before, but driving past most of the little Waffle Houses at night is somewhat reminiscent of Hopper’s “Nighthawks.” The people sitting in the counter, light inside, dark outside, relatively small building, etc.

  11. His plan had been simple enough — buy financial instruments that would mature right when he returned from this mission. Time dilation would shrink the decades into months of subjective time, and when he returned he would be a wealthy man.

    However, he’d failed to take one factor into account — inflation. When he left, a million dollars was real money. Now even a very modest home cost in the upper six figures, and then there was the maintenance and property taxes. Trying to maintain that sort of lifestyle would soon run through the sums that he had though more than adequate for the life he’d dreamed of.

  12. There was yelling from the porch. “Oh my! See that? See that?!” The TV was turned up so Ed could sit in his rocker and watch through the open window. It was warm for October. He looked down at the white-muzzled dog, gone deaf. He scooped her up high to see. “Bottom of the tenth and Jeter flipped it backhand. Runner out!” He set the dog gently on his lap. “That’s it for the series, little girl. Boy, that was something else, wasn’t it.”

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