Archive Tag:drabble

Drabble 119 – Kalopsia


I took photography classes in high school, and it was easily one of my favorite subjects. In part, that was because photograph class meant checking out a camera and wandering around school for an hour, but it was also a way for me to see things differently. I’ve never been a particularly good visual artist, so photography was a way for me to capture something and show it to others exactly as I saw it.

Interestingly, the only photo I ever felt comfortable submitting to a contest was one of a green oxygen tank. I looked at it, and it seemed like the kind of image you might see at a photo contest, so that was the one I chose, not any of the ones that I actually liked. Just a green canister with a canted frame, the contrast boosted in Photoshop to make it look extra grimy. I didn’t know what the meaning was, only that it looked like it might have meaning.

I didn’t win. It wasn’t a good photo, to be honest. I don’t know that I would have won even if it was a good photo absolutely packed with deep symbolism and artistry; photography was (and still is) a hobby, not something I pursue particularly seriously. But when I think back to all the photos I took in high school, that one sticks with me as something that was meant to represent me, but has nothing at all to do with me.

Anyway, here’s a drabble. And if you like what I’m doing, consider picking up my first zine, a collection of drabbles I put together and quite like. You can pay whatever you like for it, even nothing.

Drabble 118 – Halomancy


One of the numerous challenges I set myself this year is to bake something once a week. I pride myself on being a good cook; I like food to taste good, and I usually know the ingredients that it takes to improve it. But baking is a mystery to me, the ratios and chemistry of it all feeling like limitations rather than the blank canvas of cooking.

I’m aware that baking involves chemical reactions, and that certain ingredients must be in proportion to one another if you want the recipe to turn out. I also know that it’s wise to read the entire set of instructions before beginning, or you’ll find out midway through that you don’t have a food scale or some other essential piece of equipment. I guess I didn’t really learn anything from all the lessons of too-arrogant beginning wizards in every book I read as a kid.

If you like what happens on this blog, good news! I compiled ten of my favorite drabbles into a zine that’s available for pay what you want on Gumroad. I spent some time making them look all pretty and nice, so consider giving it a look!

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

Drabble 117 – Scolion

The Bean Feast / Jan Steen

I am so ready for 2018.

I woke up the morning of the first from a nightmare, 2017 still making itself felt. But I also woke up without feeling sick from food poisoning, which was a blessing. I woke up early, I made myself a cup of tea and some waffles with lemon curd, and read a book that I’m not sure I like, but that is certainly challenging me.

I took my dog for a walk with friends. I found out my tutoring job is closed today, which means I get to spend the day working on things I enjoy. I’m not superstitious, but I’m going to take all this as a good omen for the coming year.

The world is dark and scary a lot of the time. I’ll cling to this throughout the year, because I don’t think it’s over yet.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

Drabble 116 – Nighttide


I think we can all agree that 2017 being over is a blessing, right?

I’ve had a weird year. I suspect we all have. 2017 has been an absolute roller coaster of elation and despair. I’m more politically engaged than I’ve ever been, which is undoubtedly a good thing. I wrote a book. I spent much of this year afraid for how much longer I could keep it up, because dread creeps into everything. I lost some things that were very important to me, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get them back. I’m not sure that I should.

I don’t know that 2018 is going to be better. I wish I could say with certainty that it will be, but I just don’t know. It could be worse. We’ll keep fighting, no matter how tired and hopeless we feel. We have to.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

Drabble 115 – Hederate


The first dystopic setting I remember reading is Camazotz. It didn’t register as a dystopic at the time (probably because I had no concept for what a dystopia was) but the idea of a place where everything was the same, where one person’s difference and struggle was something to be feared and stamped out, stuck with me. As I got older and dystopias became more common reading for me (The GiverFahrenheit 451The Hunger Games, and so on), I found that there was something about them that wasn’t really working for me. Where was the rebuilding? What kind of hope could I have when these stories were about how terrible the world was, not what it could become?

I try my damnedest to be an optimist. I have to. While I love to see the oppressive past destroyed (looking at you, The Last Jedi), I also want to see what comes next. It isn’t enough for me to know that it’s gone; I want to know where the story goes next, how we recover, how we start again. I want to see what grows up between the cracks.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

Drabble 114 – Fidimplicitary

A photo of a pen on paper, which reads, "I Agree" next to an empty checkbox.

I use a random number generator to pick which word I’ll write a drabble on next. Sometimes the words that come up feel too on the nose. I suppose it’s apophenia, but sometimes it’s a little eerie to see what words come up when they’re most relevant.

Today’s word only just counts. It’s not a word that ever entered the common lexicon, despite being a handy one. And it’s relevant not just right now, but all year and into the last, and probably for the foreseeable future.

My first field of study was journalism, back when I bought that I’d never make it as a writer and I should really just pick something practical (so I went with journalism as newspaper shut down, ha). I didn’t stick with it because fate (and classes that were full by the time I tried to register) had other plans for me, but I’m so, so grateful for the time I spent learning about how the media works, how stories are constructed, how to read between the lines and fact-check and seek out the truth.

I’m a little bit of a skeptic now, but it’s for the best. We all should be.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

Drabble 113 – Ophiophilist


It’s been a while. As much as I wanted to keep doing these, it turns out writing most of a book in a little more than a month takes up a fair bit of my time. I’m a slow writer to begin with, and getting the first draft of The Compendium of Magical Beasts written was a pretty substantial task. I learned a lot from the process–enough that I have exactly zero guilt about taking a month off from writing drabbles–and can’t wait to start working on some of the projects I left by the wayside while working on it this year.

The experience of writing a book like this, which is fundamentally different from anything else I’ve ever written, has been incredibly informative and rewarding. I know a lot more about what I’m capable of, and I’m blessed to work with such great people on this project; every time I get a new sketch from Lily in my inbox, there’s another moment of elation because that sketch! is based! on something! I wrote!

I can’t wait for this book to be out in the world, and I hope it brings people as much joy as it brought me to write it.

Anyway, at long, long last, here’s a drabble.

Drabble 112 – Heteropraxy


Since I was little, I’ve always pushed things. My mom told me that she once sent me to bed and said she didn’t want to hear another peep out of me. My response, naturally, was to get into bed and say, loud enough that I was certain she could hear me, “Peep!”

I’m not a thrill-seeker in any sense of the word. I didn’t ride my first roller coaster under after I’d graduated high school, you’ll never talk me into skydiving, and I like to drive within five miles per hour of the speed limit. But still, I push boundaries. When someone told me breathing near a cemetery would let ghosts possess me, I took a deep breath before holding it, just to check.

I guess it’s not that I’m seeking the thrill so much as I’m testing things, daring the universe to show me something I haven’t seen before. So far, it hasn’t–at least not when I’ve asked. I’ll keep testing.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

Drabble 111 – Pyrolater


I am notoriously good at building fires. This might be because of my weird obsession with survival books when I was in elementary school or I might have just really internalized the two days I spent at camp, also in elementary school. I can’t say I have a particular finesse or strategy for it; I just pile stuff up according to burnability, give it space to breathe, and let it go, and, most of the time, it works.

I take a lot of pride in this, in part because a group of friends once insisted I couldn’t be trusted with a lighter (why? I don’t know, but I do know that the moment their backs were turned I lit a fire so good that nearby campers came to grab a stick from us because they couldn’t get theirs started), and in part, maybe, because it’s like nurturing a temperamental and dangerous child. Feed it, care for it, let it grow.

I haven’t been able to have many backyard fires this year because of burn bans–I live in the Pacific Northwest, and there were weeks of heavy smoke turning our clear air into an acrid haze. Fire is as easily destructive as it is warming.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

Drabble 110 – Saudade


My childhood home burned down a few years ago. I can drive by the place where I grew up, but it’s all different–there’s a big, fancy house there, set far back from the road, so different from what I remember. The blackberry bushes I used to love are gone, the strawberries and azaleas I tried and failed to grow torn up, the woods where I used to fight off bad guys with a plastic sword bulldozed over and replaced with green grass.

It’s strange to drive by there and see something that still exists so concretely in my memory be entirely erased. I dream about it in intricate detail, reliving experiences there with such intensity that it doesn’t make sense that it wouldn’t be there. How can something so concrete in my memory be gone?

In actuality, I don’t miss that house. I’m past that time in my life and I don’t want to go backward, only forward. But when I think about that corner, about watching the fog roll in over the fields, about the taste of redcaps and blackberries, it feels like a haunting.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.