Fifties by the Fire — a fifty-word, prompt-based writing challenge.
Pull up a chair by the fire as we welcome the autumn season. Let’s read, write, and celebrate each other’s creations.
Prompt: write a fifty-word story that uses the word “season” or “seasons”. For an extra challenge, begin or end your story with the prompt word. Here are the other guidelines:
Make sure your piece is exactly fifty words. Feel free to use Word Counter or the word processor you use.
Write a title with the genre in the first line. (Example: Saving Spellbound, Fiction)
The title does not factor into the word count.
Good luck and have fun. Happy writing!
Special thanks to John Lightle for providing his photo, “Autumn on the Danube,” for our writing prompt. I’m honored to be collaborating with John and look forward to showcasing more of his work in the near future.
John Lightle is a Texas writer, poet, and photographer who spends many hours sitting on his woodpile contemplating. When away from his frame shop, he schleps his artwork among area art shows. The job takes him across the countryside, occasionally overseas, photographing the quiet resolve found within the golden hours.
Seasonal Produce was finished; the band disbanded. But he wasn’t done. The music still called from somewhere through the fog of defeat. He had no choice but to listen and wait. Wait for the sun to rise on a shiny new idea. And then he went for it. Solo Career.
End of Season. Sea, a million glistening stars. Sky, a watercolor. Breeze, an August afternoon when summer is both endless and fleeting. His ashes scattered, feathers floating along the waves. She paddled past a cottage on the little island, windows shuttered, dock pulled up. As if summer had never happened.
A Promise is a Promise - prose poem by Sharron at 🍁Leaves
We met one solitary morning in winter. By spring, we’d surrendered to love, and on Midsummer Day we married. It all happened so quickly. Now, dazed by the reality of autumn, we understand that it takes serious dedication, season by season, year by year, for a marriage to last forever.
Take one sunny morning on the back porch. Add two cups of remarkably good coffee. Stir in songs of the finch and the sparrow. Mix in a little book-light from a favorite writer. Season with a kiss, in passing, from your little boy. A recipe for a darned good day.
John rubbed the ribs with spices, coated them with his secret sauce, and set them in the refrigerator to marinate. The next day, John cooked the ribs for six hours. Soon, his kids and grandkids arrived.
Justin, I love your story and am making my way through the others... I didn't get to write mine, although I thought about it a lot... Maybe next time. I think the photograph is perfect, too.
She - fiction
She was the favorite season of his life.
Late nights, early mornings: always hitting the road on an adventure. Working on the fly and making money when needed.
Two years in, she grew tired of it all – wanted something sure, something stable.
When winter arrived, it seemed to linger forever.
New Job - fiction
Seasonal Produce was finished; the band disbanded. But he wasn’t done. The music still called from somewhere through the fog of defeat. He had no choice but to listen and wait. Wait for the sun to rise on a shiny new idea. And then he went for it. Solo Career.
Stay - fiction
“I hate winters in Michigan,” Charlie says in February. “They’re long, depressing and gray. I should move.”
He makes a snowman, drinks hot cocoa and reads Calvin and Hobbes to his grandson by a warm, inviting fire.
Charlie won’t move.
Little hugs and snuggles are more important than any season.
Equinox - Fiction
End of Season. Sea, a million glistening stars. Sky, a watercolor. Breeze, an August afternoon when summer is both endless and fleeting. His ashes scattered, feathers floating along the waves. She paddled past a cottage on the little island, windows shuttered, dock pulled up. As if summer had never happened.
A Promise is a Promise - prose poem by Sharron at 🍁Leaves
We met one solitary morning in winter. By spring, we’d surrendered to love, and on Midsummer Day we married. It all happened so quickly. Now, dazed by the reality of autumn, we understand that it takes serious dedication, season by season, year by year, for a marriage to last forever.
Golden Girl - Non-Fiction
We step into a dark room awash in beams of golden dust one late summer evening.
Placing foil-covered meals in the infirm stranger’s kitchen, I look over to my grandmother.
For the first time in my thirteen years, it struck me that she, too, will someday come into this season.
Recipe - prose poem by Sharron at 🍁Leaves
Take one sunny morning on the back porch. Add two cups of remarkably good coffee. Stir in songs of the finch and the sparrow. Mix in a little book-light from a favorite writer. Season with a kiss, in passing, from your little boy. A recipe for a darned good day.
A New Place - fiction
Here's my contribution:
https://jenisecook.substack.com/p/a-new-place
Just Right - fiction
John rubbed the ribs with spices, coated them with his secret sauce, and set them in the refrigerator to marinate. The next day, John cooked the ribs for six hours. Soon, his kids and grandkids arrived.
“Mmm. How did you season these ribs, Dad?”
“Oh, I just threw something together.”
Justin, I love your story and am making my way through the others... I didn't get to write mine, although I thought about it a lot... Maybe next time. I think the photograph is perfect, too.
Sounds like fun, I can’t wait to read some good autumn stories 🤗