As part of the charter of EastWesterly Review, and in accord with the mission of Purewater University and its corporate underwriters, a certain number of “creativity-instigating” features are to be provided. Each year, the Department of Applied Textualization forms a Creativity Seed Committee, the work of which is to help fulfill this mandate.
This year, the Committee determined that there was a need to “break the cycle of creative inbreeding” of the writing workshop, and alighted upon these story starters to “disrupt the current ecosystem” of academic fiction.
These story starters are brought to you free of charge with the support of the CyberBlast© Foundation and its novel blockchain currency, WalletBlast©. “WalletBlast©: cyber-disruption, right in your pants!”
–Writing for the Committee, Mary Chino Cherry
- The bar at the Stony Ibis had closed already, but, as usual, that did not deter Edie and The Monk.
- Treasures are notoriously hidden; however, the mystery of their whereabouts often has more value than the illusory chestful of shining doubloons.
- In the distance, the white Cessna banked left, toward town. At that moment, Mortimer knew what he had to do.
- She never would have looked into the gaping mouth of the beached whale had it not been for Liesel’s aching ear.
- The sun was merciless that January day, casting the sort of brutal brightness that makes your face sweat while your toes freeze to the sidewalk.
- There were no more chitterlings at the Stymied Rabbit, a fact Rosie, as it happened, took to the grave.
- He knew one thing for certain: people paid more if you moved diagonally, doubling back to make diamond patterns shine green in the damp grass.
- They fully admitted their love of Merlot, yet all through lunch, they drank rosé.
- Tom never intended to devote his life to the study of the science of murder, but, as he was soon to discover, intentions are massively overrated.
- Kate was soon to discover the source of their curiosity: overnight her tongue had become prehensile.
- It was as if the entire town’s storehouse of certainty had been washed out with the night’s tide.
- She had filled her wheelbarrow entirely with starfish—and for good reason, as starfish were know to be lucky in these parts.
- Either time had ended or Stacey had forgotten to wind their watch.
- The three of them had spent the entire weekend on that fetid couch. But no amount of passion was able to save Grandma Clive’s Pickle Farm. That, in the end, would take another kind of miracle.
- Latin grammar, we would all come to understand, was far from her only talent.
- At the Point, the highway’s centerline veered sharply left, causing Petra to nearly lose control of the Stingray.
- The floor of the house was flooded with thousands of postcards. There would be no way, they knew, to index them all before Thursday.
- At the roll of the storm’s wind, the whole high plains appeared to shudder.
- Little did she know of providence, still less of the spiky, yellow flowers that grew there.
- They were three feet airborne when the axle sheared it spring mounts.
- The sloppy run down the coal seam had definitely split his Wellingtons, but there was no possible way he was stopping now.
- The engineers had determined that the arc of the rocket, which likely had been home-made, would have passed right over Plover Ranch, in full sight and considerable sound, and should have been noticed by Archie, Rich, and the ranch-hands alike.
- Seeing the mangled Fiat splashed across the rocks certainly wasn’t believing, and neither Molly nor Nick could take their eyes off the wreck long enough to measure the skid.
- By the fall, they’d wed, and come spring, their house was mostly set up. It was modest but comfortable, hard by the cliff side where the hungry kites that seemed to hover there were watching.
- None would say why, but it was clear that the system was shutting down slowly and in an orderly fashion, all across the world.
- They had long since stopped being charmed by the satellites, the simple and often vapid messages they spelled.
- It was within the wind’s pollen, the diesel funk and the keen scent of hot metal, that they found the first clue.
- Only savages lived here. He knew that, for only savages could—would—put up with the hard-packed soil and the tangling grass.
- They held out as long as they could feign being a dozen men, passing the battered musket between them.
- The hard sidewalk and the constant pain, these had not been present in the simulator.
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