Six Sentences
Six Sentences is a web site where you write six sentences and submit it. It's good because you have to go through the entire submission process, plus your six sentences may or may not be accepted.
Update: A few months ago, Robert McEvily, the owner/operator of Six Sentences, decided to start the Six Sentence Social Network at sixsentences.ning.com. I've decided that once a week I'm going to post a blog there. I may post something new, or I may post one of my six sentences that's been rejected. So if you see the status of some of them below listed as Posted at sixsentences.ning.com, that's why.
Below are My Submissions:
Gunpoint — Published!
The Crooked House — Published!
Through the Door — Published!
Sandals — Published!
Dear Diary — Published!
Father — Published!
Being a Stepdad — Published!
You Think I'm Stupid — Published!
My Submissions
| Stopping at Stop Signs |
| Submitted: Saturday, February 13, 2010
Word Count: 122 Status: Posted Saturday, February 13, 2010 directly to sixsentences.ning.com A few days ago, I was following a cop through my neighborhood. He didn't seem to be in a hurry; he looked like he was just cruising. But when he got to the stop sign in front of the school by my house, he managed to make it to "slow" but he never made it to "stop." Don't get me wrong, I'm not a complainer, and I've never received a citation for not stopping there. But I do see plenty of others who do get stopped at that particular intersection and I'm sure a lot of them get tickets. So all I'm saying is that if you're a cop, lead by example; and if you're not, stop at the damn stop sign. |
| I Forget |
| Submitted: Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Word Count: 106 Status: Rejected, Tuesday, February 16, 2010 Update: This has been reworked as a drabble (a story of exactly 100 words) and I am submitting it to drabble markets. You can follow the progress at: My Drabbles. Sadly, this one was rejected. I was so sure it would be accepted. But I'm not going to post it yet. I'm going to look for another market for it before I just throw it out there. Stay tuned. |
| Bluetooth |
| Submitted: Thursday, January 28, 2010
Word Count: 107 Status: Rejected, Wednesday, February 3, 2010 (Posted February 3, 2010 at sixsentences.ning.com) Yesterday I needed a Bluetooth headset for my phone and while I was in the store, I thought it would be a nice gesture to pick one up for my wife too. I fell in love with mine immediately, but she didn't want hers. She's had one before and because it's so tiny, she knew how easy it is to lose. I felt a little hurt that she didn't like my gift, but I acquiesced and took hers back to the store for a refund. This morning, I can't seem to find my Bluetooth headset anywhere. I guess she was right about it being easy to lose. |
| Growing Pains |
| Submitted: Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Word Count: 87 Status: Pending Coming soon. |
| Gunpoint |
| Submitted: Saturday, December 26, 2009
Word Count: 100 Status: Published — Sunday, January 24, 2010 This piece was published in the very first issue of The 6S Review, a Six Sentences publication. You can order a copy at https://www.createspace.com/3426567. |
| Far From Home |
| Submitted: Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Word Count: 150 Status: Presumed Rejected Thursday, July 9, 2009 (Posted August 1, 2009 at sixsentences.ning.com) I passed them on my way into the local Wal-mart, they on their way out. It was seven o'clock in the morning and they were already carrying a twelve-pack of beer each, dressed in their blue shirts with a patch over their left breasts declaring their names to be Jake and Ike. Their hands were grimy - down into their pores - from their labors; mechanics of some type in a trade that probably made their fathers proud. It would have made my father proud too. And but for a twist of fate, I would have followed in his footsteps and could easily count these men friends as we carried our beer out together after a grueling nightshift. But I followed another path, becoming an educated man, driving my minivan, sporting a shirt that promoted my daughter's swim team, becoming soft around the middle, and realizing that I was far from home. |
| Out of Touch |
| Submitted: Saturday, June 21, 2009
Word Count: 178 Status: This was posted on Sunday June 21, 2009 directly to sixsentences.ning.com It was my daughter's birthday and I watched her twist and sway to the noise that could only be called music in the loosest of definitions. I knew that I was in danger of becoming my father, but my saving grace was that I had yet to actually articulate my low opinion on the quality of this band. I wanted to understand, I truly did, but it was difficult because I couldn't comprehend more than three consecutive words of their non-rhyming lyrics at any given moment. Still my daughter was enjoying herself, immensely from the look of her gyrations, and I tried to make sure that my presence didn't intrude upon her merriment. And then the band broke into their rendition of Sweet Child of Mine and all former transgressions were forgiven as I suddenly began to rock out, jumping and banging my head, to my daughter's favorite band. She looked at me, giving me the slightest measure of a smile, and I realized that I wasn't as out of touch with today's music as I'd originally thought. |
| Tracks |
| Submitted: Saturday, June 14, 2009
Word Count: 108 Status: This was posted directly to sixsentences.ning.com I used to hang out in a bar called Tracks to write. I took my laptop and I would sit and write for hours, the words flying from my fingers almost faster than I could type. It was a "Cheers" kind of atmosphere, where everyone knew me, and always interrupted me to ask how I was. Then Tracks was sold and the new owners closed it down to rename and remodel. It's back open now and I've stopped in to write, but somehow, something is different. It's not as comfortable and my words don't come as easily as they used to, in spite of the lack of interruptions. |
| The Crooked House - Published! |
| Submitted: Saturday, May 16, 2009
Word Count: 115 Status: Published - Wednesday, May 27, 2009 He was once an upright man living in an upright house, both standing tall and proud in the promise of their youth. But time passed, and as it did, they stood against the assaults upon them, each in their own way. The house endured the battering of rain and the whipping of wind, each drop and gust sapping its strength and fortitude, ever so slightly. And for the man, it was much the same, suffering under the constant pressure to earn more. And with each promotion he was forced to redefine his character, wearing away at his morals and integrity. Until finally there was nothing left but a crooked man living in a crooked house. |
| Talking Without Periods |
| Submitted: Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Word Count: 83 Status: Rejected Tuesday, April 7, 2009 (Posted at sixsentences.ning.com) For some reason, my thirteen-year-old daughter always feels the need to tell me when she's having her period. Sometimes she can be subtle about it, coming to me in the morning, all sleepy-eyed and asking me how many PMS pills she can take. But usually she's more overt, just dropping the big p-bomb on me without preamble or warning. I think she gets a kick out of it, watching for my reaction as I try not to squirm or run from the room screaming. Maybe if I didn't react that way, it would take the fun out of it for her. Then maybe I could get her to stop telling me every time when it's that time. |
| Through the Door - Published! |
| Submitted: Sunday, March 1, 2009
Word Count: 83 Status: Published - Sunday, March 22, 2009 I never expected to see her walk through that door. I hadn’t seen her in over twenty years, but I recognized her immediately. And I recognized the young woman who walked in behind her. She looked just like her mother did, back when we were still together. I didn’t even know she had a daughter. After an awkward hello, she said, "Nicole wanted to know who her father was." |
| Sandals - Published! |
| Submitted: Sunday, March 1, 2009
Word Count: 144 Status: Published - Sunday, March 8, 2009 I'd nearly forgotten, but it was time for me to perform my once-a-week cleaning of the cat litter, just in time for the trash to go out the next morning. It was late and I was tired, almost ready to turn in for the evening. As I searched for my sandals, I realized that they were in none of the usual places, which meant that my stepdaughter probably had made off with them. She was already in bed and I was in no mood to go searching for them, considering the miserable chore before me. But when I turned on the hallway light and opened her bedroom door, I saw her fast asleep, curled up in her blankets, the sandals laid out neatly on the floor by her bed. I smiled and realized that I didn't really mind her sneaking off with my sandals. |
| Timing |
| Submitted: Sunday, February 15, 2009
Word Count: 91 Status: Rejected Monday, February 16, 2009 I'm not ready to post this one here yet. It's about Valentine's Day and I think I'm going to rework it as a drabble and submit it to another market next February 14th. |
| Conspiracy - Posted at sixsentences.ning.com |
| Submitted: Saturday, December 13, 2008
Word Count: 96 Status: Posted at sixsentences.ning.com - Monday, December 15, 2008 So, I submitted this to Six Sentences on Saturday. On Monday, Robert sent me an email and said, "Too funny - I love it!" He went on to ask me to post it on the Six Sentence Forum on Ning.com at sixsentences.ning.com. I agreed since I was really just having fun with this one. Six sentences, six sides on a snowflake. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I think it’s an evil conspiracy by one Mr. Robert McEvily, whose name is another not-so-coincidental happenstance that makes one wonder just how deep the rabbit hole goes. I believe that with a little digging, you will discover that he is solely responsible for the global warming phenomenon that threatens our very existence, having found a way to eliminate one snowflake for each six-sentence submission he receives. I wonder; will Volume 2 of his diabolical 6S tome have a white cover too? |
| Dear Diary - Published! |
| Submitted: Sunday, November 30, 2008
Word Count: 89 Status: Published - Sunday, December 7, 2008 Dear Diary, Today I met the boy that I want to spend the rest of my life with. It’s somehow comforting to know that I’ve finally found him, in spite of the butterflies that tickle my insides whenever I think of him. His name is Todd and he has the most beautiful brown eyes and sandy, long hair. He is smart, and witty, and so much fun to be around. And I know he likes me too. I can tell by the way he pushes me down at recess. |
| Father - Published in 6S — Volume 2! |
| Submitted: Sunday, December 21, 2008
Word Count: 168 Status: Published — Tuesday, April 7, 2008 This one you'll have to buy the book to read. You can find it here: 6S - Volume 2 on Amazon.com. You can find Father on page 63. |
| Just a Job |
| Submitted: Sunday, December 21, 2008
Word Count: 133 Status: Rejected I submitted this one for possible publication in 6S — Volume 2, but it was not accepted. I'm not ready to post it here yet. I'm going to look for other markets for it. |
| Being a Stepdad - Published! |
| Submitted: Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Word Count: 197 Status: Published - Thursday, October 30, 2008 After three-plus years of being a stepdad, you tend to learn a few things. For me, I’ve learned that mom isn’t so good at math, which makes my arrival in the family both timely and fortuitous. But more importantly, I’ve learned how much a twelve-year-old can sneak in to steal your heart when you aren’t looking. It only took a slip on the parallel bars in gym class, followed by a broken nose, and my rush to get to the school to see how she was for me to realize that she had slipped in when I wasn’t looking and had latched onto me in ways that I couldn’t foresee. Now that the surgery to reset her nose is over and she’s sitting on the couch watching movies, her nose bandaged in a splint to prevent it from moving, it still tugs my heart strings to know she’s hurting and there’s really nothing I can do about it. So I get her ice cream, and take her pillows and blankets, and hope that I’ll be there the next time she falls, hopefully to keep her from hurting herself, but at least to help her dust herself off. |
| The Last Phone Call |
| First Submission: Wednesday, September 17, 2008 - To The Drabblecast
Word Count: 100 Status: Rejected Friday, October 3, 2008 by The Drabblecast Second Submission: Friday, October 17, 2008 - To Six Sentences Status: Pending The phone rang. It was three in the morning. I let the answering machine screen the call for me. I didn’t need a magic 8-ball to know that it was Larry, or that he was drunk, and horny, and sorry for all the grief he’d put me through back when we were together. I could predict all of that. What I couldn’t predict was the low grinding noise at the end of the call that forensics would later determine was the sound of a garbage truck running over my poor, sweet Larry, ending any further opportunities for forgiveness or reconciliation. |
| Turn the Water Off |
| Submitted: Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Word Count: 132 Status: Pending I thought I had it all worked out. I'd been thinking about it for days, examining it from every angle, considering every detail. I arranged time off from work, during the day when my husband wouldn't be home to disturb me. I took the phone off the hook, lit aromatic candles around the tub, turned soft, soothing music on in the background, and laid the razor blade on the edge within easy reach. The only thing I forgot to do was turn the water off before I slit my wrists, my mistake apparent as I drifted up above my lifeless body. Of all the things to do in the first moments of my afterlife, I worried about how the bloody water would stain the floor and seep down into the apartment below. |
| Watch Out for Motorcycles |
| Submitted: Friday, August 29, 2008
Word Count: 126 Status: Pending The wind was in my hair, the sun on my face. The long shadows of early evening were beginning to cool the air, making it a perfect time to ride my motorcycle. Traffic was light and the stresses of the day began to melt away as the miles clicked by. I had absolutely nowhere to go and was in no hurry to get there, focused on the ride more than where I might end up. What I didn't realize was that the final leg of my journey would be in an ambulance on the way to the hospital because some S.O.B. decided to come into my lane without looking, forcing me off of the road. It is summertime, so please, please, please, watch out for motorcycles. |
| You Think I'm Stupid - Published! |
| Submitted: Saturday, August 9, 2008
Word Count: 61 Status: Published - Tuesday, September 9, 2008 You think I'm stupid because I'm still here. I'm not. I'm waiting. I'm not waiting for you to make a mistake. I'm waiting for the exact moment when you will unsuspectingly place your trust in me at a time when you are most vulnerable. Then I will unleash my vengeance upon you, laying you bare and leaving you empty and forlorn. |
| Rose in My Hair and Todd |
| Submitted: Saturday, July 26, 2008
Word Count: 105 Status: Posted at sixsentences.ning.com I was as nervous as a schoolgirl, my palms sweating and my breathing shallow. I had a rose in my hair and Todd would be here soon. As I glanced into the hallway mirror, I realized that my reflection hadn't changed, but still I primped my hair once more. With my attention distracted from the window at which I'd held vigil, I didn't notice my beau's approach until the doorbell heralded his arrival. I jumped with surprise, my anticipation reaching a crescendo. I couldn't help but think that this time, this man, would be the one and my search for a companion would be complete. |
| The Laboratory |
| Submitted: Thursday, July 10, 2008
Word Count: 135 Status: Posted at sixsentences.ning.com Blue lightning flashed across the dark, moonless sky, reflecting off of the puddles of muddy water standing in the though fares that served as streets. The ominous clouds picked up the lightning and passed it along, allowing it to travel for miles across the sky in ever-expanding fingerlets of light, illuminating the countryside that surrounded the remote alpine village. The very air echoed the feeling of foreboding that the angry sky heralded. A misshapen figure stepped from a hovel of mud and twigs, more reminiscent of an underground burrow than a home, and looked up. The open-air windows of the castle situated atop the precipice overlooking the village reflected an eerie blue light of their own. Doctor Frankenstein was already working in his laboratory and it was going to be a long night for Igor. |