I've been out of work since 2002, but things are starting to look up.

You know those cheesy scifi conventions where people dress up as Klingons to stand in line for overpriced autographs from C-list has-been actors? Well, I've never been to one despite the fact that I'm a big nerd (and despite writing a story on the subject).

But this weekend I will not only be attending a scifi convention, I'll be an exhibitor. No, really.

I will not, however, be dressing as a Klingon.

So there was a little contest at the Harvard Bookstore website; the assignment was to write, in 350 words or less, a story of romance involving a bookstore. Below the fold: my entry, which seems to have not been acknowledged. Perhaps the e-mail address I gave them was bad or something.

So, you get it, instead.

It was another cold (hot) and snowy day when he (she) woke up and looked out of the window (door). There was a deep fog that prevented (hindered) him from seeing the house (condo) across the street (freeway) from his (her).

He didn't (did) really know (estimate) how much snow (ice) was on the ground or if he'd even have to dig his car (horse) out to get to work (play).

Note: The contained text is a story, not a how-to on writing a short story.

Silently, she sits.

The room is lit only by the harsh orange sodium glow dribbling past the thick net curtain over the small window. The light slops over the room, lighting it haphazardly, leaving huge shadows where it refuses to go. The room is rendered monochrome by this light. Its dim illumination leaves more to be imagined than is revealed.

Silently, she sits.

Gary hated Jack. Gary worked as a barman in Jack's pub. Gary also lived in the pub, in the pokey little spare room upstairs. Gary had agreed to the arrangement when he was new in town, and thought it was a good deal. But now Jack kept back money from his wages to pay for room and board, and Gary could never put enough together to move somewhere else. Jack didn't know any of this, and thought he was doing Gary a big favour, and would have been mortified at the suggestion he was causing problems in his life.

And because Gary hated Jack, he stole from him. It started off small, with the odd shot of whisky when he wasn't looking, but he quickly moved onto overcharging and short-changing the punters who were drunk enough, swiping the odd bit of float from the till, never enough to cause worries, just enough to annoy. Gary made sure he always did it when one of the other staff was on duty as well, just to make sure if there was any suspicion it would remain diffuse.

But Jack was a trusting soul, and never suspected a thing.

Q: Will you consider a trade with meat ?  posted by: dan_teeboon (51 )  10:36 pm, Thu 30 Mar
A: How would I communicate with the meat to arrange the trade? I mean there's a little bit of a language barrier there. I'm not racist or anything, but I think I would have trouble trading with meat, yeah. 10:43 pm, Thu 30 Mar