6 Sentence Stories!

Every other Monday (at least to start), I will post 6 Sentence Stories that are either my own or those sent to me by others. Six sentence stories require an economy of words and are a challenging exercise to improve one's writing. It is really surprising how much can be packed into six sentences.

To start this off, I am going to post a story of my own. If you would like to send me a story for consideration of publication on The Stars Are Not Made of Fire, please follow these directions. It must be in paragraph format and no more than 6 sentences long with good grammar. Please send it to me at: annette(at)thestarsarenotmadeoffire(dot)com. Make sure that you include the story in the body of your email and put 6 Sentence Story in the subject heading. Anything with an attachment will be deleted. Please include your name, a little about yourself, and the link to your blog or website if you have one because I will link to you. You maintain any rights over your story, I am just willing to post them here on my blog. I do reserve editorial rights over my blog. I will keep the directions to send me stories in the right hand sidebar. Hopefully this as a feature on this blog will take off.

I am still getting the hang of writing these stories. Here is an offering from me:

Her eyesight was failing, but the old witch felt along the shelf until she found the stoppered jar with the wolfsbane in it. The sun was setting, the beast would soon be at the door, and she and the golden-haired girl would be in grave danger unless her spell were complete before moonrise. For three moons the wolf's tracks had been found at the ingenue's door, she was the key because the wolf desired her above all the other villagers. By removing the werewolf's curse from the afflicted man, the witch, smiling, thought about how she would be a heroine and capture the transformative magic to make herself young again. The foul smelling brew within the cauldron begin to bubble and pop with potency as the room grew dark and the shadows cast by the flickering candles grew grotesque. The last thing the witch saw was the sharp teeth of the blonde werewolf who tore out her throat.