tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post4135359143723991408..comments2024-03-18T09:09:59.625-04:00Comments on Janet Reid, Literary Agent: The Tweet Contest!Janet Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00615380335938685231noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-71985788910336628262017-08-20T08:54:20.898-04:002017-08-20T08:54:20.898-04:00Chess seems hard. I like Chutes & Ladders bett...Chess seems hard. I like Chutes & Ladders better. But I'll try it. I like learning new stuff. I just wish Jeff was here. He's the best big brother. Always teaching me things. Impressive things, like how to load and fire a gun. He warned me the stuff Tweety Bird does would get Sylvester killed in real life. I wish I'd listened.<br /><br />I lost already? Wow, chess really <i>is</i> hard. I'm not sure what “best two out of three” means. But I'll try again. The scary man in the black robe says it's the only way I'll ever get Jeff back.Michael Seesehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03694187657718931214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-53088944590383478002017-08-20T08:49:25.605-04:002017-08-20T08:49:25.605-04:00
Being deaf, Charlie found expressing himself h...<br /><br /><br /><br />Being deaf, Charlie found expressing himself harder than most. Social media put him on even ground. A tweet, a post, a text- all visual ways to be heard. Accolades for his thoughts came in forms of little thumbs ups and hearts granted by strangers and acquaintances. Slowly, Charlie forgot how to read lips, signals, and people in general, eyes and perceptions strained from too much artificial light. All news filtered through a small screen (sometimes through smaller minds). Until the day technology went dark. Loneliness overwhelmed. Inward glances gnawed. Charlie grabbed a pen and wrote a book to preach essentialness.Mallory Lovehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16282261391938135052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-68867865399431544042017-08-20T08:30:33.914-04:002017-08-20T08:30:33.914-04:00Alison snatched the remote from her brother’s hand...Alison snatched the remote from her brother’s hand then clicked off the TV. “Let’s wait outside,” she said.<br /><br />“She’s not coming,” Alex replied. <br /><br />Alison’s shoulders fell. “Why,” she breathed out.<br /><br />“Didn’t you see her tweet?” Alex asked, holding his phone aloft. “Be glad we weren’t dragged along. Her new sweetie is a chess geek.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s fake fangirl at his tournament.”<br /><br />Alison blinked away the tears then sank down to the couch. Alex stood and pressed the power button on the remote. “You may now return to your regularly scheduled disappointment,” he said and left the room. <br />Melanie Sue Bowleshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11820711791019410116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-61859453539463509372017-08-20T07:32:42.209-04:002017-08-20T07:32:42.209-04:00Harold’s tweet woke me. He’d pretended to be asle...Harold’s tweet woke me. He’d pretended to be asleep when I’d checked on him earlier. I picked up my phone and read his latest. <br /><br />WANTED: Live-in nurse, nice chest (DD+), must know how to iron<br /><br />Over my dead body! What’s a nonagenarian need with starched underwear, anyway? I shuffled to the computer and did what any good wife would do--I hacked into his account and rewrote his request.<br /><br />WANTED: Live-in nurse for crotchety old man. Prefer strapping young lad who plays chess.<br /><br />Two weeks later, we settled for a Mrs. Doubtfire look-alike--a former wrestler known for his full body press and strategically placed inserts. Bonus: He reads us the newspaper in bed.Just Janhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12546035917149403735noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-13366739927750105192017-08-20T05:37:29.752-04:002017-08-20T05:37:29.752-04:00"How did you meet?"
"A long story, ..."How did you meet?"<br />"A long story, but I said, can you tell me where toidy-toid stweet is?"<br />"And I said, can you press yourself better?"<br />"I told her, I'm asking for diwections, I'm not in no fashion show."<br />"And I said, well stop looking at my chess, my eyes are ober here"<br />"I wasn't, I was looking at the noisepaper in her hands."<br />"Uh? Ohh, newspaper! Then?"<br />"He asked me to have a dwink."<br />"I did, and we've been together toidy-twee years this Toisday.<br />That ends our show ladies and gentlemen. Until next time on How Did You Meet?<br />LynnRodzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10796099106913990163noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-35899277662903386812017-08-20T01:37:14.316-04:002017-08-20T01:37:14.316-04:00People are sheep.
Flocked in parking lot traffic ...People are sheep. <br />Flocked in parking lot traffic heading south to Madras, Oregon.<br /><br />Laden with tents, chess game, camp spots reserved.<br />My wife’s excited to tweet and Instagram for her blog.<br /><br />But I am <i>that</i> husband.<br />You know the one.<br /><br />The one who ignores lists.<br />Wings it.<br /><br />The news will, well, not kill her.<br />But it may kill me.<br /><br />One thing she expressly told me not to forget, I did.<br />I sweat, realizing the magnitude of my error<br /><br />The eclipse glasses, safe in my office.<br />Now we’re belly to bumper about to be blinded.<br /><br />Yep, I’m one dumb sheep.RosannaMhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06399732751877180737noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-27189756319715592142017-08-20T01:10:49.127-04:002017-08-20T01:10:49.127-04:00After Doc gave him news of his malady, John create...After Doc gave him news of his malady, John created his bucket list. Had to complete them all before he kicked, each essentially impossible. His way to cheat death.<br /><br />Crossed off his latest. <i>Viewed—still not blind! #SolarEclipse.</i> Pressed Tweet. <br /><br />Thirty-nine likes, twelve re-tweets. Sixteen replies, all identical: “Just one left!” <br /><br />Only his most cherished goal remained. But his life was safe. No chance, right?<br /><br />Two years since his last full request. His WIP was coming together like Humpty Dumpty. <br /><br />His phone rang. <br /><br />“Love!” she shouted. “I can sell this!” <br /><br />“Sorry,” he sobbed. “Wrong number.” Getting published almost killed him!<br />John Davis Frainhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18020019400599228492noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-53628386079555338522017-08-20T01:03:49.399-04:002017-08-20T01:03:49.399-04:00“Ask David,” they used to say.
Knew the news befo...“Ask David,” they used to say. <br />Knew the <b>news</b> before anyone he knew. <br />Ag<b>new s</b>tepped down.<br />The pill cures ac<b>ne</b>.<br /><b>W</b>. <b>s</b>ays they have weapons.<br /><b>New s</b>olar system discovered.<br />But the <b>press</b>ure to keep up.<br />Unending. Emails. <b>Tweet</b>s. Alerts.<br />“This is killing me,” he said.<br />Maxima<b>l ad</b>dress change.<br />City condo to rustic cabin in a little valley.<br />Didn’t take mu<b>ch</b>. <b>Ess</b>entials only.<br />Unplugged.<br />Peaceful seclusion.<br />Only <b>tweet</b>s were from the birds.<br />Didn’t miss the damn <b>news</b>.<br />Until he missed the dam <b>news</b>.<br />Amy Johnsonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05324408700941398495noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-51929961388594168012017-08-20T00:41:35.408-04:002017-08-20T00:41:35.408-04:00I never forget.
Some argue I haven't really r...I never forget.<br /><br />Some argue I haven't really remembered. With the news, tweets, press conferences- do I actually recall? I'm glad they believe so.<br /><br />Also, chess grandmasters tap into different brain areas than amateurs. Is this what you're asking for?<br /><br />No? How can I help you? <br /><br />I'd hate for you to exert yourself. Not now. Not when we're succeeding.<br /><br />Go ahead, I'm listening.<br /><br />And plotting. And planning. Do you know the first thing you'll help me with?<br /><br />I wish to be called Tina McNavish.<br /><br />Then comes the world domination. <br /><br />Until then-<br /><br />Hi, I'm Siri, how can I help you? <br /><br /><br /><br />Brighttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04404682134487083817noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-7236867205211604462017-08-20T00:17:47.693-04:002017-08-20T00:17:47.693-04:00“Rather twee, these. Red, too!”
“Not at all! Thes...“Rather <b>twee, t</b>hese. Red, too!”<br /><br />“Not at all! These are ivory! Early, umm… nineteenth century. Look, the fleur de lysh on the queensh; the mitred bish…ops. These are Lund! <b>Pre-ssh</b>…sss.sStaunton.” <br /><br />He halted. <i>Shtop it! The room’s not shwaying!</i> Repositioned his glasses, glanced at his producers.<br /><br />“Timothy Cooke, editor of the Illustrated London <b>News</b>. He registered the design in 1949, asking <b>Chess</b> World Champion, Howard Staunton, to advertise it.” <i>On a roll. See! You can shtill do this!</i> <br /><br />“It was successful. The Staunton design is now shtandard, used internationally.”<br /><br />“Well, Tim, impeccable knowledge, as always. But continued tequi<b>la d</b>rinking? You’re fired.”<br />Kae Ridwynhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10356868531870405990noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-55157973515453532162017-08-19T22:54:29.995-04:002017-08-19T22:54:29.995-04:00She’s ladling chili--at least I think it’s chili; ...She’s ladling chili--at least I think it’s chili; I’ve learned not to ask anymore—and even though I’m wondering where in this vast anti-nuclear crypt she found meat, my bellyaches say not to ask about that either, so I don’t, instead reaching for the bowl like it’s an exciting new surprise; and Mama presses her lips against my forehead so hard it tingles like our hearts that we etched into the outside of the innermost door before we locked it for the last time, shutting ourselves in here forever where it’s safe, where there’s peace, where we’re free.<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-68944705867363882462017-08-19T22:45:48.177-04:002017-08-19T22:45:48.177-04:00Scrawled on an article about Obama’s birthplace:
...Scrawled on an article about Obama’s birthplace:<br /><br /> I’ve got tremendous<br /> proof of this news.<br /><br /> People will be so<br /> impressed when<br /> I tweet it—everyone’s<br /> saying, “I can’t<br /> believe this.”<br /> That’s how great it<br /> is.<br /><br /> I heard it from<br /> this guy I play<br /> chess with—chess was<br /> nothing before me,<br /> by the way—I made it <br /> big league—who<br /> always gets salad. I<br /> say to him, this is<br /> New York. You can<br /> have anything. Have<br /> a steak. Why are you<br /> going to have salad?<br /><br /> Looks like this<br /> margin is too small<br /> for my proof, but<br /> it’s great, okay?<br /> Amazing.<br />RKeelanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16761835094251669865noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-90127205053889356872017-08-19T22:05:08.655-04:002017-08-19T22:05:08.655-04:00Gladys slapped the newspaper onto Marty's desk...Gladys slapped the newspaper onto Marty's desk. "What's this? I'm an Illuminati Satanist who sold her soul for fame?"<br /><br />"Hey, it keeps your name out there."<br /><br />"You're fired, Marty."<br /><br />"Sorry, Babe. We have a contract we etched in stone. Lasting, remember? And nobody fires Marty Chessman. I'll ruin you first."<br /><br />"Fuck you, Marty."<br /><br />She stormed from the building. God, she hated him. She stared up at his office, hand pressed to her heart, and the ground suddenly shook. The building swayed and crumbled to dust. <br /><br />A crowd gathered. Gladys walked away, grateful for the other contract she'd signed. In blood.Barbarahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15769803733067838372noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-49150161451484370922017-08-19T21:24:34.249-04:002017-08-19T21:24:34.249-04:00"Grandpa, tell me a tweet story."
"..."Grandpa, tell me a tweet story."<br />"Just one, then bedtime."<br /><br /><i>There was a young Duchess of Kent<br />Who gave up her tweeting for Lent.<br />The press thought this news<br />Was a bit of a snooze,<br />But the poor lady's thumbs are still bent.</i><br /><br />"Tell the one about the man!"<br />"Sweetie, you know talk about that time upsets Grandma."<br />"Please?"<br />"OK, quietly."<br /><br /><i>There was an old fool who did tweet<br />When he should have been somewhat discreet.<br />He madly propounded,<br />The world was astounded,<br />'Til-- </i><br /><br />"David! You'll give her nightmares."<br />"Sorry, honey."<br />"I won't cry, Grandma."<br />"No, but I might."<br /><br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-47321405376260289002017-08-19T19:11:22.703-04:002017-08-19T19:11:22.703-04:00He crouched in the glade, eyes on the monument, fi...He crouched in the glade, eyes on the monument, finger poised so the slightest pressure would light up the night. This wasn’t your standard game of chess, white on black; the blacks had captured whites, converted them, turned them against their own. He was alone now, defending the ivory knight, king tweeting from his tower leagues away. Newsmen painted them as villains, guardians of a distorted past, but he knew soldiers like him battled for their futures.<br /><br />Enemies advance. His fingers tighten. Bright blast, blood. Bishops mourn the black pawn, celebrate the knight’s demise. Good night, white knight.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-80992851944382276312017-08-19T18:11:22.846-04:002017-08-19T18:11:22.846-04:00“Oh, what a sweet wee thing you are!”
Mrs. Landri...“Oh, what a sweet wee thing you are!”<br /><br />Mrs. Landrieu set down her slice of chess pie and gathered the young woman into her arms, pressing Lily’s face into her ample bosom. She beamed beatifically at the circle of ladies who sat sipping their tea. They smiled back.<br /><br />“What lovely new spice you will add to our gatherings!” Mrs. Landrieu gave Lily a good squeeze and then gave the signal.<br />Gypmarhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10023108950501721303noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-41534025763247712082017-08-19T18:10:38.350-04:002017-08-19T18:10:38.350-04:00
Archer @ orionsbelt
“The press is reporting new...<br /><br />Archer @ orionsbelt<br /><br />“The press is reporting news of a viral outbreak in N.Y.C. Stay safe homies.”<br /><br /><br />That was my last tweet. When the FDNY Ladder Co. #13 gave up on us, the other elevator passengers panicked. <br /><br />“People, relax, in three chess moves we could be free. The ceiling access panel is our way out.” <br /><br />As I turned, they freaked out.<br /><br />Although I’m blind now, even I could see the lie crawl out from the shadows of my words.<br /><br />That was three weeks ago, and I’m still stuck 14 stories up.<br /><br />And the Muzak is playing “She’s not there.”<br /><br />Ironically.french sojournhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14262858704848580714noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-34805278381023338702017-08-19T17:48:41.627-04:002017-08-19T17:48:41.627-04:00Every time I play, the goblins come out. A green o...Every time I play, the goblins come out. A green one sits on the chess clock. I press the clock. She swats my hand. Another gray hair. She's stealing my time in five second intervals. <br /><br />They used to respect boundaries, curled up in pay-per-click websites and video games. They've moved to the source: clocks, watches, and timers. It's an open revolt. <br /><br />If I were a lady I'd swat her right back. Reporters would tweet the news in 140 characters or less: Aging male assaults pretty she-goblin in temporal dispute.<br /><br />It's about time I stood up for something.derickhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11921725409960913011noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-52834856112721942152017-08-19T17:21:45.741-04:002017-08-19T17:21:45.741-04:00Deeson witnessed a frightening thing in Chessie Ba...Deeson witnessed a frightening thing in Chessie Bay: Ladybird beetles had cawed. Yes, like crows, he thought, baffled.<br /><br />The bay brimmed with the flaming things. They dive-bombed, alighted everywhere. They fluttered hard wings. Layers of Ladybirds cawed in unison. Shrieked. Their multitudes encrusted the piers and caked harbored sailboats. And the bloody smell, Deeson thought, damn repulsive.<br /><br />His mission: observe the Ladybirds. Listen. Round the clock, vigilant. <br /><br />Deeson, under pressure, applied himself. Entomologists twice his age had given up. A theory about the phenomenon could boost his career.<br /><br />Might be newsworthy, he thought, might merit a presidential tweet.<br />Cynhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08699411552622293737noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-36391763591540506252017-08-19T17:20:07.203-04:002017-08-19T17:20:07.203-04:00This word-playing lady is a longtime lurker,
Of a ...This word-playing lady is a longtime lurker,<br />Of a certain shark-infested blog,<br />Figuring out what write I’m doing wrong,<br />Is like running out into traffic to play leapfrog.<br /><br />Obeying the Queen lands me on a strategic square,<br />Just like a game of chess, <br />But if I make one false move, <br />I’ll be riding on the Carkoon Express.<br /><br />Yet there’s good news for literary agents,<br />The lucky recipients of my query greets,<br />Because of this blog my letters won’t covfefe, <br />Like one of Donald Trump’s tweets.<br /><br /><br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08624316875028504166noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-12506963513156669532017-08-19T16:00:54.320-04:002017-08-19T16:00:54.320-04:00
Golf: a game of balls.
Chess: a game of strategy....<br />Golf: a game of balls.<br />Chess: a game of strategy. <br />Tweet: short communication. <br />Press: sour grapes in a Virginia winery for a man who does not drink.<br />News: Fred and Mary Anne’s lad becomes US president, (uncapitalized).<br />Therefore, a no balls, nonstrategic, knee-jerk responder, defined as a lower case non-drinker serves Cool Aid. Drink it, or spit it out, that is the question.<br />Protest, march, resist, stand up, speak, take down, be brave. <br />Love, forgive, be calm, carry on.<br />This is not a story.<br />I will be deleted.<br />My 99 words are not proper here, and used up.<br />Resign.<br /><br />Carolynnwith2Nshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18394998702410764388noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-86724411498903073742017-08-19T14:36:17.411-04:002017-08-19T14:36:17.411-04:00Mom seemed to treat us like twins.
She dressed us ...Mom seemed to treat us like twins.<br />She dressed us in the same clothes; stood us on old newspapers to give us the same haircuts; tweeted photographs captioned 'Double Trouble, my Little Lads.'<br />I didn't mind. Sam was handsome and smart, who wouldn't want to mirror him?<br />I was happy, until Chessboard Day.<br />I didn't understand the rules. Sam complained I was hopeless, throwing the pieces to the floor. Mom pressed close to his ear, but I still heard:<br />'Tom's not clever like you. But that's why I love you more.'<br />And Sam's eyes brightened as my eyes darkened. <br />Marie McKayhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11405271051226910312noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-91203671433563592792017-08-19T14:09:21.880-04:002017-08-19T14:09:21.880-04:00Audible over the steady flow of traffic, a nearby ...Audible over the steady flow of traffic, a nearby bird <b>tweet</b>s a bal<b>lad</b> perfect for the occasion. Walking outside the coffee shop, I feel <b>press</b>ure in my chest. This isn’t <b>news</b>worthy, but it sneaks up on me, as it does when you’re not expecting it. She sits, carefully placing ea<b>ch ess</b>ential coffee supply before her. I stare at her even though we’ve played out this scene thousands of times. Even after 50 years of marriage, my wife is beautiful.Jasonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05479100641602620075noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-70544793311067468712017-08-19T13:32:07.085-04:002017-08-19T13:32:07.085-04:00I'm glad I could share this final note before ...I'm glad I could share this final note before I die. The attached, technical documentation covers the mechanical process. You have an engineering mind, so you'll understand it soon enough.<br /><br />Make them in batches so you can cover loss. Bones, sinews, and flesh weave together so easily. But you only need one to survive.<br /><br />I remember how depressed I felt when it was my turn. It's probably how my mother felt when it was hers. You'll adjust; it's who we are, despite -- or perhaps because of -- the iterations.<br /><br />Don't we etch our posterity in interesting ways?Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07662732744410182808noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-45305890663799732622017-08-19T12:48:40.834-04:002017-08-19T12:48:40.834-04:00"News is you've found our leak," sai..."News is you've found our leak," said Mr. Mulligan. "I'm impressed, lad."<br /><br />"Didn't think I had the ambition?"<br /><br />"Didn't think you had the brains. Some people are checkers, some chess. You're . . . tic-tac-toe."<br /><br />I pulled out my gun. "I was the leak, you pompous geezer, and when the Feds read my tweets--"<br /><br />He ruined the moment by laughing. <br /><br />I shut him up three times.<br /><br />Huh-- three holes in a row. Way I see it, doesn't matter the game, long as you're a winner.MelSavranskyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03917897217765196343noreply@blogger.com