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August 1, 2005

Volume 5, Issue 1

You are standing by a lake.

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"This is the third time you have come to us with a poor story topic. The gods are angry! They have blighted the land, and now demand blood sacrifice!"

"Puh-please don't kill me!" squealed the blogger. Behind the hapless fellow rose the massive form of Ur-Blogga, the great snake of the lake.

"HAY DID U SEE TEH DRUGDE 2DAY?" said Ur-Blogga.

"Great Ur-Blogga, we are prepared to do penance! Please accept this, our offering!"

"MSM RATHERGATE ROFLMAO."

"We - we don't understand." The elder looked around, confused. "What are you trying to say to us, oh mighty one?"

"OMGLOL," said Ur-Blogga.

Posted by: G-Do at August 1, 2005 6:55 AM · Permalink

Relax, as it turned out, the blogger survived.

Posted by: G-Do at August 1, 2005 6:57 AM · Permalink

The old man stood on the bank, looking out over the lake. Boats of all types moved around the lake. Occasionally, a towboat shepherded a group of barges up or down river.

The river - until the 1930's, it had flowed unimpeded. Then TVA started building the dam. In 1940 it was finished and the lake started forming up behind it. Out there, probably a mile or so out and over 100 feet deep now, that had been his boyhood home on the river.

He slipped off his shoes and socks, sat them neatly on the bank, and started walking home.

Posted by: hnumpah at August 1, 2005 9:05 AM · Permalink

You are standing by a lake.

"A lake? We're ten levels underground and there's a friggin' lake? What's next? A sun, too?"

"Hey, don't bitch at me. You've been playing this game for 2 days even though our ConLaw report is due in 10 hours."

"OK, OK... Once I have enough money for a TRS-80 I won't have to play on the university system again." Matt types throw the vial in the lake.

The screen is blank for a second, then flashes The water in the lake takes the form of a dragon.

"Oh shit... let's start that report now."

Posted by: Chrees at August 1, 2005 12:31 PM · Permalink

Yasir stood at the edge of the lake, contemplatively sipping his tiny cup of sweet Turkish coffee.

I hate this place, he thought to himself. I hate this place, but I must stay. My own decisions led me here, and here I remain.

There was no point in feeling bitter. So what if things did not turn out as he expected? Life had always been full of surprises. Why should this be any different?

Why indeed. The same question he had asked himself every day for the last 13,497 years.

Damn if he wasn’t sick of that lake of fire.

Posted by: Elisson at August 1, 2005 1:13 PM · Permalink

I always go out to the lake when I'm having trouble writing. Lately, all of my stories have felt like stale retreads of these:

1) Anything followed by a twist: s/he's actually a ghost! or a murderer!

2) Funny anecdote (these are usually the best).

3) Weird fantasy.

I stare at the surface of the lake. It is calm and black; it does not betray its depth. It could go down ten feet or ten miles, but I'm certain there must be more to it than this; there must be something else down there.

Maybe it's time for a swim.

Posted by: G-Do at August 1, 2005 2:37 PM · Permalink

There's something about a lake that requires a woman lying beneath it. The classic 'watery tarts lying in ponds handing out scimitars', being the key to supreme executive authority.

The classic archetype: Arthur Paendrag receiving Caliburn Ex Calibur from the Lady of the Lake to become the King. The modern, inverted form: Ted Kennedy, leaving Mary Jo at the bottom of his Lake to lose a near-assured Presidency. There are others: hardly a US lake is without some story of a tragically drowned Indian Princess.

Still, sometimes the woman at the bottom of the lake is just a scuba diver.

Posted by: Jeff R. at August 1, 2005 3:25 PM · Permalink

The lake was, of course, frozen, since it was only March. He hoped the ice was thick enough. His host assured him it was.

For his first time on a snowmobile, he pulled onto the ice and cruised around a little bit, then decided the best way to avoid being skittish was to just pin it and see what she would do. The 600cc sled went to an indicated 70 before he let off the throttle. Plenty of lake left.

After a few hours riding the trails, he got to ride the 1000cc sled on the lake. It went 100.

Posted by: david at August 1, 2005 3:43 PM · Permalink

The fog lifts in the morning sun. The sounds grow as the living creatures come to life. You are standing by a lake. I don’t know how you got there, and I don’t think that you do either. You stare into the remaining fog, eyes not really seeing. You hear steps behind you.

“Hello.”, I say.
Silence.
“Can you talk?”
Silence.
“Ok, it’s normal to…”
“I can talk.” Emotionless. Eyes neither dead nor alive.
“Good. You need to come back to continue your treatment.”

“No. No more. No more.” You turn and walk away.

I am standing by a lake.

Posted by: JAB at August 1, 2005 5:55 PM · Permalink

What about Chi Chi Roduigueiz?

Posted by: zipity at August 1, 2005 7:26 PM · Permalink

Tralfaz stood in the lake's shallows, toes in the sand. His fat and querulous wife lounged on the deck off the house, slurping on the margurita that he had mixed only minutes before.

"'Fez, another!" she demanded, wobbling the long-stemmed glass between her thumb and expressive middle finger. "And don't get the floor wet!"

Tralfaz hated the mat.

Stifling a sigh, Tralfaz walked to the kitchen door, stopping just outside to stand on the green mat with the short, packed spikes. Hot air wooshed up, drying his feet instantly. His only thought: "These are the tines that dry men's soles."

Posted by: TigerHawk at August 1, 2005 8:34 PM · Permalink

I stare out into the desert as I wait for the sun to set. Darkness and miles of isolation provide us the necessary privacy. Finally a moonless night has settled over the dry lakebed. I walk back to my humvee and radio the control center.

"Ok, tell them to come on in."

The first sign is a high-pitched hum. It quickly grew louder and then the bright landing lights snapped on. The ship landed on the lake bed and the engines quickly spooled down.

Saucer 31 had returned to Groom Lake from it's latest trip to the colony on Phobos.

Posted by: Gahrie at August 1, 2005 10:44 PM · Permalink

I think it has possibilities . . . needs work, but has definite possibilities if it's part of a bigger and original theme . . . mysteries are hugely popular, but often predictable in that they're almost always written from the point of "who dunnit?" . . . this would appear to be something written from the standpoint of "what have I done and what do I do now?" Develop it and see what happens . . . maybe even you'll be surprised!

Posted by: WriteGirl at August 4, 2005 3:27 PM · Permalink