Observations of The Urban Spaceman 
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As described in my last post, I’m setting myself (and inviting others to join) a writing challenge designed to stretch unused writing muscles and limber up the creativity. Each month a new topic will be set, and each Friday we’ll write something based around that subject.
Magpies and humans collecting shiny baubles crow over their wealth Today is the first official day of 12 Months of Writing! This haiku came about when I was walking home from work one day last week and spotted a bit of silver on the pavement. Immediately I thought “ooh, what is that shiny?” It turned out to be half a button popper that must’ve fallen off somebody’s coat or bag, and for… Read More
As described in my last post, I’m setting myself (and inviting others to join) a writing challenge designed to stretch unused writing muscles and limber up the creativity. Each month a new topic will be set, and each Friday we’ll write something based around that subject.
To try and give myself some structure and get back into the swing of writing, I’m going to get myself a pair of training wheels. And a safety helmet. Maybe one of those big bubbles to travel around in. And to do this, I’m going to give myself a type of structure to adhere to over the next twelve months. I dub this dubious challenge:
12 Months of Writing
There was something a little different about the newest coffee shop in town. Something odd that Mia couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Nestling down into the pile of leaves clustered at the base of the tree, Lars folded his arms to tuck chilled fingers into warm pits.
Theo kicked out at a stray stone, sending it bouncing along the sidewalk. It bounced three times, then went plink! as it struck a post driven into the Stukers’ lawn.
Yard Sale.
“But I’m tired of the doll house. I want to play on the rocking horse.”
Alexander’s complaint reached Maria as she crossed the midpoint of the stairs. The creak of the ancient wooden staircase beneath her feet drowned out his next words, and it wasn’t until she approach his bedroom door that she heard him speak again.
Emporium was quiet for a Saturday night, but then, it tended to attract a lot of Espers. Dunno why. Maybe they like the music. Maybe they like that the bar staff don’t ask How’s your day been? as soon as you pull up a stool. Maybe they just like the soft-light ambiance. Emporium wasn’t really my scene, but I didn’t feel as uncomfortable there as most simple, honest folk do.
One micey. Two micey. Three micey. Four—
He stopped, stock still, on the gleaming barbed wire fence. The fourth spike was empty. Where was four micey?
Glorken
The Urban Spaceman
Observations of The Urban Spaceman 
Things humans said