Introduction

I've recently gotten into the habit of outlining stories or novels, but never sitting down and actually writing them. It's easy for me to come up with a plot, but my execution is horrible. (I've been writing a fantasy novel for a year and a half now and only have four chapters down on paper. Pitiful.)

Hence: Knerd's Drabble page. Dedicated to forcing myself to start writing. Once I get in the habit, it will be easier to transfer my skills to larger projects.

I hereby swear to complete 50 drabble projects. Poems, 100 word paragraphs, short stories, reflections, etc. Whatever strikes me at the moment. I am basing my drabbles off a topic list from the LiveJournal community 100_prompts. Once I work my way through their 50 list, we'll see if I have enough strength left in me for more.

Each drabble will begin with what prompt it falls under, as well as what style of writing I'm using to fulfill it.

Edit::
I must be insane, because I'm going for the hundred prompts.

Rules

I'm out of habit, I know. My writing style is often very stop-and-go, I know. I abuse commas without a second thought as to their well-being, I know. But none of that is the point of this writing. I'm simply trying to get the juices flowing. I'm all for constructive criticism, but my style is my own. So nyah.

• Just be polite, it's all I ask.
  
• Literacy, please. Even if you're only dropping by to say hello, I appreciate your full sentences far more than you realize.
  
• Feel free to drop a comment whenever you wish. Even if you don't plan on reading anything in the page. Trust me, it gives me the warm fuzzies.

Prompts

• 1. First Kiss
  2. Final
  3. Numb
  4. Broken Wings
  5. Melody
  6. Rules
  7. Chocolate
  8. Nostalgia
  9. Heartbeat
  10. Stranger
  11. Confusion
  12. Bitter
  13. Afterlife
  14. Daybreak
  15. Audience
  16. Endless Sorrow
  17. Nature
  18. Wishing
  19. Happy Birthday to You
  20. Tomorrow
  21. Oppression
  22. Agony
  23. Return
  24. Protection
  25. Boxes
  26. Hope
  27. Preparation
  28. Beautiful
  29. Lies
  30. Underneath
  31. Hide
  32. Diary
  33. Unforeseen
  34. Conditional
  35. Gone
  36. Clear Skies
  37. Heartache
  38. Wired
  39. Insanity
  40. Foolish
  41. Words
  42. Study
  43. Punctual
  44. Piggybank
  45. Shooting Star
  46. Writer's Choice
  47. Writer's Choice
  48. Writer's Choice
  49. Writer's Choice
  50. Writer's Choice
  Edit::
  51. Fireflies
  52. Pills
  53. Endless night
  54. Crawl
  55. Invisible
  56. Wealth
  57. Power
  58. Desolate
  59. Tissues
  60. Varnish
  61. Careful
  62. Dirty
  63. Circus
  64. Engagement
  65. Junction
  66. Barren
  67. Lipstick
  68. Shirt
  69. Shortbread
  70. Groceries
  71. Speakers
  72. Under the influence
  73. Odd socks
  74. Spatula
  75. Watching
  76. Sweat
  77. Closer
  78. Turning point
  79. Mercy
  80. Under pressure
  81. News
  82. Candy
  83. Rain
  84. Whistle
  85. Needful things
  86. Lawyers
  87. Park bench
  88. Locked
  89. Tongue-tied
  90. Marzipan
  91. Butterflies
  92. Winners and Losers
  93. Abducted
  94. Plugged
  95. Carefree
  96. Writer's Choice
  97. Writer's Choice
  98. Writer's Choice
  99. Writer's Choice
  100. Writer's Choice

• 1. First Kiss
  100 Words

It is a dream. A frivolous, nonsensical dream. To have a boy kiss me on the forehead, where the bridge of my nose meets the eyebrows. It is the singularly most romantic gesture that can be made, if only on the first date. Simple, sweet, never would it involve the two of us sprouting offspring nine months afterward.

Yet it shall remain a dream. To ask so much by asking so little is folly, as any girl can relate. For now, I shall put my lipstick to use and wear Cranberry Shine throughout the night, until morning wears it off.

• 2. Final
  100 Words

Hours ticked by amid desperate inquiry and pleas. Questions filled the air as they stood in wait: Was he alive? Did his friends make it through? Is this really the end? Years of anxiety rolled to a climax as the mob pressed themselves against the glass of the building, determined to catch a glance of those inside. From young to old, all steeled themselves for the news: Come morning, there could only be a celebration or a funeral.

Midnight came too slowly. Only then would the doors open, telling the world for once and all Harry Potter's final fate.

• 3. Numb
  Poem

one
tall
girl.

she's the one
who laughs
when she walks,

she's the one
who trails
confidence,

she's the one
who is now
curled

on the foot of her bed
squeezing herself smaller

wondering if today
it will all come

and set her mind
free.

• 4. Broken Wings
  Poem

He doesn’t know how high this songbird flies.
Or that tattered wings refuse to fail-
That though they’re torn and have been wronged,
this songbird swears she will prevail.
With broken wings but recovered heart,
she knows he hasn’t cut too deep-
Our little songbird, determined and true,
takes to the skies with tiny feet
and a sudden, flawless leap.

• 5. Melody
  Poem

the
tapping
of toes.
on the wood floor.
beneath the balcony.
covered in lights.
that shine through the sky.
tell me right now--
music is key.

• 6. Rules
  Reflection / Essay

"The first rule of Fight Club - Don't talk about Fight Club"
A Reflection in the Works of Chuck Palahniuk


As I'm sure many of you know, Chuck Palahniuk is the author of such novels as Fight Club, Inivisible Monsters, and Choke. Pre-teens everywhere have joined his cult of self-destruction and rave about his writings. I, however, hold a much different viewpoint.

New to the genre of transgressive fiction? Then by all means pick up one of his novels. It will blow your mind. Just don't expect it to hold that kind of sway for long. The more you read, the more you experience, the more you are exposed to, the worse his writing will become. By the time a few years have passed and you pick up that first novel again, it will all have turned to crap. That is the problem with Palahniuk.

You grow out of it. It's as simple as that. What once thrilled you as a thirteen year old is now two-dimensional and empty. Palahniuk impressed you because of his sheer shock value - Once you've had time to think over the plot and characters and themes, you've found that there's nothing there. You'll find the same problem when comparing his works: You've read one, you've read them all. Stylistically, his novels are too similar to look at as separate entities. To review one you must at least be familiar with the rest, for they will undoubtably hold the same problems and criticisms.

If you are interested in transgressional fiction, it is my advice to you to dive straight into the genre without bothering this middle man. Notes From the Underground by Dostoyevsky is a must, as is Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. Our Lady of the Flowers by Genet is not for the faint of heart, but Glamorama by Bret Easton Ellis would be greatly worth your while.

• 7. Chocolate
  Reflection

Am I the only woman in the world who doesn't worship at the alter of chocolate?

Candy simply doesn't appeal to me. Many nights, I pass over on dessert. My boyfriend knows to buy me a ton of chocolates for Valentine's Day, because I'll simply give them right back to him for his own consumption. Some where in my life, did my inevitable gene for female chocolate addiction mutate?

I found a bag of M&Ms in the fridge just the other day. It was opened, half gone, and staring up pleadingly at me. My reaction? I put a twist-tie and the top so that the rest of it wouldn't go bad / stale. During the process, my mother spots me with the bag and asks me to toss it over. Those poor little chips were gone five minutes later.

Where did this female stereotype even begin? Chocolate is supposed to be good at relieving cramps, but wouldn't it then also help men when dealing with fatigue? Guzzle some sugar, put the pep back in your step. So why don't we picture our men curled up on a Saturday night with the remote in one hand and some Hagen-Daaz in the other? Lord knows that's what the jilted woman is going to look like.

Could it be taken as a sign of weakness? "I can't do anything else, so I'll just eat." Understandable, with such a prevalence now on eating disorders and such. But how does that bring chocolate into the picture? Eating enough of it will make you sick to your stomach. Wouldn't you ladies out there prefer something that would both fill you up, taste amazing, and actually make you feel good? Chocolate may release endorphins into your blood stream, but even that won't stop you from doubling over with stomach pains. If you're going to choose a vice, at least make it something that will affect you more strongly - Wine, perhaps. Another stereotype that perhaps I'll look into later on.

• 8. Nostalgia
  Reflection / Free Write

I remember this one time when I was about 8, when my mother convinced me to take part in the Kid's Classic, a running competition for children based off of a marathon in my town. She was volunteering with it for work. Running isn't something I've ever really been interested in, but I had to go anyway simply because that was what she wanted.

I spent a lot of time that morning just warming up on the football field while my mom strolled around and helped with the races. The smallest kids had their footrace right on the field itself, while the older kids had to do laps around the track. I was somewhere in between, so my group had to run about 3/4 of the way around. I remember my age group being called up, and all of us being split into heats, because there were too many to be raced at once. My mom said that she would meet me right on the field afterward. All the kids were lined up on the side of the track, and I was put into the 3rd or 4th heat. I was lined up in one of the outside lanes. I didn't do so well - I spent too much energy in the first part, and was completely overtaken in the end. I didn't even get a ribbon.

The chaperones just herded me, along with all the other kids, into the bleacher section of the stadium so that we would be out of the way. But my mom had said that she'd meet me on the field. I just panicked. The chaperones wouldn't let me back through the gate, so I had to run to the opposite end of the stadium to try to get in there. I was completely out of breath, and my chest hurt. But there was no one guarding the other gate. I slid through and did a little look-left-look-right to make sure that I wasn't going to pass straight through a race. It was like crossing the street. But I had taken about two steps before another chaperone stopped me and re-checked to make sure no runners were coming. She didn't trust me to think that I had already done it myself. She kept me standing there, with her arm crossed in front of me and placed on my shoulder, for almost a minute before she was satisfied and let me go.

I went out onto the field as fast as I could, but I didn't see my mom. I spun around in a circle, but she wasn't there. I think that I just gave up then. I sat down and started bawling. I don't know how much time went by. But eventually, I remember a hand touching my back, and my mom half sitting on the ground and putting me on her knee. But I just couldn't let go of the feeling of panic, and all she thought was that I was sad about the race. A Right then, neither of us knew it at the time, but a friend of my mom's snapped a photo of us. She gave it to my mom days afterward, and it got placed in one of our photo albums.

I found it a few years ago, and tore it to shreds.

• 9. Heartbeat
  Poem

Five
Four
Three
Two
One
Breath in,
Breath out.

Silent ravings,
Quick wanderings,
My mind meanders
All too much
These days.

"Nobody really likes you,"
The whispers say.
"They just stare at you
Waiting for your next mistake."

I feel very small,
As if I don't exist.
So much time
Is spent wasting away,
Pretending.

Breath out,
Breath in.
The drum beats on
For another day.

• 10. Stranger
  Reflection / Free Write

I don't know why, but not only am I a nervous driver, I'm a paranoid driver.

I hate it when someone else is driving behind me. It's as if they're constantly criticizing the speed I'm going. They want me to speed up, they want me to slow down, they wonder how a person like me ever got her license. It's enough to make my driving erratic at times, if I let it.

But more often than not, I'll simply become overly cautious. I'll wait at a stop sign until the entire road is clear before I'll pull out. I'll stay five mph under the speed limit. I'll signal way before I need to turn, but not so far beforehand that they think I'll be going onto another road. I just act like I'm on my road test again, and they're there to judge my every movement.

It's strange how driving affects me so much. On a day to day basis, it doesn't matter to me what the adoring public thinks. I dress how I like, I express my on personality, I don't let random strangers dictate how I carry myself. I will be the same person whether I'm speaking with Britney Spears or Mother Theresa. That's just the kind of person I am - If I can't hold myself together, then there must be something wrong. So why does this 2 ton hunk of metal change that? Who knows. Life is just weird that way.

• 11. Confusion
  Translation

They are recently in the practical one to describe to the reports or novels, but never I am not based become and in truth to write them. It is easy for me for with a lottery on farcire to come, but my execution is orribile (I has written hour a novel of imagination for the year one and to only celebrate the understood one them on the paper to have. Pietoso.)

Here: The page of Drabble Van Knerd. To force to begin to write specifically. As soon as in the practical one to obtain, it will be easier to transmit my attitudes to me towards the greatest plans.

I swear in order to complete the 50 drabble plans. The poetries, 100 paragraphs of word, the short reports, i bezinningen etc... That that also strikes it at the moment. I base mine drabbles of a directory of argument of communitarian LiveJournal 100_prompts. Once the job I make my way with they 50 a directory of, to see them or they have it enough of force to leave more in me in order.

Drabble will begin everyone with which memory it raises it, as which style to write uses it in order to realize.

They are of the practical one, weet he. Mine to write style it is often a lot
einde-en-gaat, weet me he. I am useful for the virgole without according to thought as far as their well-being, for weet me he. But null of that this is the point to write. I try simple to obtain the juices to strain. They are they for the constructive critic, but my style is mine.

Therefore a lot nyah.





***I know you're curious, so I'll just come right out and tell you - This is a Babel Fish translation of my Introduction and Rules, the first two posts on this thread. I used Babel to translate it from:
English to Dutch
Dutch to French
French to Italian
Italian back to English

Complicated? Or just plain strange?

• 12. Bitter
  Poem

On nights such as these
When the fog is thick as a ghost
The sky glows with an eerie red
Illuminating the urban sprawl

The great American machine
Heaves sweat and oil into the sky
Thick and wet
Industrial strength
We shake out heads and blink like babies;
The air is too rich.

Turning around will be going backwards
Look ahead, forward to tomorrow.
We’d sing our way through the rain
As the stars cower in hiding
All of them giving in
To the overwhelming
Overpowering
Jungle of traffic lights
Who wail in unison:
Stop! Stop! Stop!

• 13. Afterlife
  One Hundred Words

You never know. It truly is as simple as that.

Throughout our lives, we walk blindly. Overcome by the mystery that is time and knowledge, we allow what little we have to slip straight through our fingers. Our losses are only realized once it has become quite impossible to turn back; The hourglass still stands tall amid the smoke and formidable haze.
Yet, would we have it any other way? Is a brief glance into the future truly any better than the experience?

I do not know, nor shall I ever, for I am content with living in the moment.

• 14. Daybreak
  Poem

Your eye color is unknown
A mix of beauty love and gold
I wish i saw you more often
So i could stare into them
Forever
For always

• 15. Audience
  One Hundred Words

The porch door slammed behind her as she rushed out of the house, stumbling her way across the lawn, vision impaired by her own tears. I should have gone over right then, but I had no right to interfere. The interloper never does.

The car sped out of the dirveway, leaving tire marks on the manicured grass as the wheels rotated a dozen or so times before picking up traction and propelling her forward. I would have called her name, but I doubt she would have wanted to hear me or my voice.

Could I have done anything but watch?

• 16. Eternal Sorrow
  Poem

cheap words from a cheap man
one who is angered only by fear
one who is shallow and simple.

he offers no truth
and he is not tender
one who looks nice and
has nothing.

My heart is not broken
or lonely for love,
it is simply bored.
the usual discomfort,
cannot be fixed
by compromising morals.
It's time to evolve.
It's time to change from this
juvinile angst.
We are no longer children,
I have not been for several years,
but stubbornly, I shall refuse to let on.
I'm growing weary
Believing in an empty promise
Holding on to the lovely notion
That love will end this discrimination
Against me

• 17. Nature
  Poem

a somber leaf
etched
on manila folder paper and
charcoal smudges
twisted
against the window
with the winter slowly coming from behind
framed by a broken spider’s web.

sighing on the panes
frosted lightly
weakly
showing that winter dies too
as the broken leaf
fell
onto the cool ground
with cruel laughter echoing within.
there was no time for tears
only talk of nights
walking together holding hands
and speaking of things of no thought.

words disappeared into the wind
heralding the start of
snow.
the laughter within slowly paled
not slowly enough
with smiles of malice but no
forethought.
the noises did not know
but the wind and the leaf
were prepared.

• 18. Wishing
  Poem

And what become of joy
when sadness is all you hear
and sorrow is all that is swelled up
in your heart

And what become of laughter
when tears is all you see
rolling down red cheeks and swollen eyes
they are crying out.

And what become of kindness
when cruelty is all you know
and indifference is what everyone
have shown you

And what become of love
when hate is what surrounds you
and hate is all that you know
all that you feel

And what become of the world
where a smile is scarce
happiness is unheard of
and compassion is unabundant

and what become of love?

• 19. Happy Birthday to You
  Poem

A wish
A dream
A slant of light falling past
As cameras happily shoot,
Your face wide with
Hope.

Happy Birthday to you
May you shine on.

• 20. Tomorrow
  Poem

I see it coming
coming up fast
I cannot avoid
I cannot avoid
the giant steadfast
pile of mortar
and brownstone
the solid wall
stern and harsh
staring at me
impending collision
inevitable
I see it coming
I cannot avoid
I cannot avoid
I see it coming

• 21. Oppression
  Poem
  

they want me
everyday is the same
with the masses staring
blank expressions
because they have been told to buy
and they stand in line
because other people are there
and you wonder about what they are thinking
do they know that they all look the same
and they all want the same thing
even the sour faced mean ones
won't leave for the same reason some stay
and they don't realize it but i do
they want me.

• 22. Agony
  Poem

Shards of poetry
Lay strewn across the floor,
Piercing my feet
With deadly accuracy.
They leave me frail,
A shell of a creature
Less human than before.

And yet-

I give it my soul.
Everything pours forth,
Leaking metaphor and alliteration.
Imagery drips from my tongue.
Rhyme clings to my cheek.
Eyelashes lay heavy with allegory.

Slowly
The panic subsides.

Ultimately
The path clears.

The struggle ends
In a blaze of light
And blast of fire
That blinds the all-seeing eye
Of my muse,
Only to reawaken
My heart
At last.

What once was incomplete