Can you tell a great story, one that's so good, it's hard to tell if it's fact or fiction?
Emily King and Melodie Wright are hosting this creative bloghop where we share a summer memory as well as one that's pure fiction. The stories do not have to happen this summer. Everyone else's job? To spot the fact from fiction. The writer who fools the most commentors wins the prize.
Here's the scoop:
Monday, Sept. 3: Post one summer story, true or false, it doesn't matter but it should be under 500 words.
Tuesday: Sept. 4: Hop to other participating blogs to check out your competition.
Wedesday, Sept. 5: Post your other summer story. If Monday's was your truth, have Wed. be your fiction story. Or vice versa. (Again, under 500 words.)
Thursday, Sept. 6: Hop to other participating blogs. Decide which one is true and which is false and put your vote in the comments of each entry.
Friday, Sept. 7: Your reveal. Tell us which story is true and which is false.
Here's my second story:
“You’re it!” the red head yells before racing her little
sister across the yard.
“No fair!” the blonde girl speeds as fast as her little legs
can carry her, but her older sister is almost to the trees and out of sight.
She follows the trail up the embankment, under the cover of gigantic
evergreens, to find a pair of blue eyes peaking around the silver garbage cans.
The red head pops up laughing. “Bet you can’t tag me!”
The two girls run circles around the three aluminum containers
until the big one tires and the relentless little one hits her on the arm in victory.
“You’re it now!”
“I don’t want to play anymore.” The red head climbs the
other side of the dug-out area where the garbage cans sit, and drags her hand
along the rough bark of the tree trunk as she walks around it. “How high do you
think we can climb?”
The blonde one squats and launches herself toward the lower
branch barely skimming the droopy green boughs. “I need a lift, Jennie!”
The red head walks over to her little sister and is about to
pick her up when a blood curdling scream pierces her ears. “What’s wrong?”
The little blonde sister squirms and spins and hops around
with one shoulder tilting to the ground. “Get it off! Get it off!”
When the younger sister spins once more, the red head’s eyes
go wide and then she doubles over, laughing so hard she almost pees her pants,
all the while the blonde sister is crying hysterically before running from the
cover of the cedar trees.
Mom rushes out the slider onto the deck. “What’s the matter,
“Mommy! Mommy!” the blonde girl barely sputters between
sobs. “Get it off!”
Mom holds her arms out to her daughter and pulls back when
the little blonde girl nears. “Oh, dear, it’ll be okay, we’ll get it off,” she
says, stifling a giggle and feeling slightly guilty for not embracing her traumatized
child. “Jennie, run and get a stick.”
“M-o-m-m-y!” the little one wails, throwing herself on the
The large banana slug that had plopped down from the tree
landing perfectly on the shoulder of the little blonde girl, sails from its
temporary perch, leaving an ooze of slime on her white-cotton t-shirt.
The red head returns, stick in hand, ready to whack her
younger sibling, only pulling up short when she spots the slimy mollusk squinching
in that disgusting way slugs shrivel after touched. Her mouth spreads into a
smile. “Let’s get some salt!”