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Four times a day,
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get the words out.
Write in any genre in
300 words or less.
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Write. Now.
I had gone in with a complaint feminine in nature: stomach troubles. With health insurance for the first time in my life, I found myself in and out of the doctor's office on whims, because I could, and because it seemed that I had been ignoring things in myself(more)
My father drank but he wouldn't have been described as a drinker. Back when he was my age and before he got sick he went to bars only occasionally, usually with other men from the logging company. Someone told me about the time he took his  Berkeley friend to a(more)
A matter of outstanding debt. Eighty dollars owed a bar, so I walk frosted streets as winter freezes into temporal context. In empty lots, a world of crystal chandeliers in the beam of my flashlight - scotch broom wearing ice. The crown of a honey locust engulfs a street(more)
Things get sticky.  Feeling around the room with my eyes, avoiding the puddled humanity which has let itself go, wondering where all the fireflies have gone.
I put my hand in some beer and search around for a bar napkin, always out of reach.  How am I supposed to write m(more)
He was a man--I was used to liking boys. Big and strong wasn't usually the type that I went for--I preferred the skinny ones with glasses and delicate wrists and beat-up sneakers. Not men, with real beards and not just cultivated stubble. With boots and plaid flannel shirts somehow(more)
A strong arm curled around my waist from behind and yanked me through the doorway of the dressing room before I could blink.
The slam of the door was covered by the thunder of drums as the first band of the night began their set on the other sid(more)
she doesn't go to bars anymore

the smell makes her sick

the people make her anxious