Locations of Site Visitors

Sunday, September 15, 2019

Writer’s Morning Out

Chatham/Lee Writer’s Morning Out will meet Saturday, September 21, 1:00 PM at Greek Kouzina. Come early and have lunch and discussion with other writers.
The program is “Why Consider Small Press Publishing” by Ross White, executive director of the Bull City Press, an independent publisher of poetry, fiction and non-fiction. Ross, a published poet, has been with BCP since 2006, and teaches grammar and poetry at UNC-Chapel Hill.

Saturday, August 17, 2019


The winner of the 2019 Ultra Flash Fiction contest is Judith
Stanton. Here is her award-winning entry.

Life’s a tale you write as you go.

Or so said Gran, the old witch. Who knew what she saw, what lay in the way; the then, the now, the what would be.

For me, who loved her, and the tall pole beans she grew out back, and the wild red rose in her front yard where the red oaks soared high as the house.

I lived there all my life, a child so young, so lost, nine,ten, and no one there but me to hear and Gran’s son in his bare shirt and jeans. 

Paul, his name was Paul.
He lived his life inn a spare room off the porch.
“I don’t want to live like this,” he once growled at me.
I was a child and did not know what to say.
“She locked me up and kept me here,” he said.

Chills crept down my spine, but man, you can’t make these things up. My Gran could not have been a witch, could not have locked him up.

Then one day at the crack of dawn, Mom and Dad loomed at the foot of my bed, heads sunk in a new dark place, and said, “Paul’s dead.”

“What?” I asked, in shock and doubt.
Paul dead? He talked to me, had been my friend.
“And how?”
“And why?”
They could not say.

But that I learned he took Gran’s old Ford truck and all the wrongs he’d held close to his chest and broke through the barbed wire fence and rolled down the slope to the pond.

Drowned and dead, and not one word to me, his friend.
Life is a tale, Paul’s voice said in my head.
You get to end it when it’s time.

As for Gran, who’d locked him up, she cried.


Friday, June 14, 2019

Gran Mer’s Gift

This is an example of an Ultra Flash Fiction from several years ago. It is 248 words. There is an error in it.  Can you find it?

Gran Mer’s Gift

Gran Mer was mad.  Joe Bob gave her that name. He could not say her real name so this one stuck.
“Dang nab it, sun says it’s past noon. If they ain’t here then they don’t eat.”
‘Bout that time Pap and Joe Bob came up. She went out on the stoop. Pap looked at her with a big smile on his face, and said “Gran Mer you look mad as a wet hen.”
“I am. Past noon and you ain’t here to eat so I throwed it out.”
“Gran Mer we’re late ‘cause we went to town.”
“There’s work to be done. How come you run off to town?”
Pap laughed. “Gran Mer don’t you know what day this is?”
“Course I do. Tuesday.”
“Well,Gran Mer, it’s the third of May, the day you and Gran Pap were wed. So we got you a gift.”
“Don’t need no gift.  Need you to be here on time. What kind of gift?”
Pap took out a small box and and placed it in Gran Mer’s hand. “You told me that Gran Pap did not have a ring when you was wed. Crops have been good and I saved a bit. We got you this ring. It has yours and Gran Pap’s names wrote on it.”

Gran Mer took out the ring. She did not read well but she could make out the names. “Dang nab it, you done made me cry. Food’s on the stove.”


Ultra Flash Fiction (UFF) Contest Rules: Open to NCWN members or WMO members living in Chatham/Lee County.
Submission guidelines: Any subject. Can’t exceed 300 words, including the title. Only one syllable words allowed. (Contractions pronounced as one syllable are okay. E.g., I’m, I’d, I’ve, can’t, won’t, don’t, Also, possessives pronounced as one syllable: Joe’s, Ann’s, Kate’s etc.). Tenth yearly contest. Use your wordsmithing skills to make every word count.
Blind judging: Your name shouldn’t appear on the story page. Include a cover page with name, title, word count and email address. Send MS and cover page as .doc or .txt attachments to: by July 31st. By submitting an entry, you are assumed to be granting us one-time reprint rights. This is necessary so we can legally post the winning story to the blog. If you do not wish a winning entry to be so posted, just let us know.

Tuesday, June 11, 2019


Chatham/Lee Writers’ Morning Out meets Saturday, June15, 1:00 PM at the Greek Kouzina.  Come early to enjoy good food and discussion with other writers.

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

Poem of the Day

The Day After Christmas
By: Al Manning

Twas the morning after Christmas
And all through the house
The children were sleeping
All quiet as a mouse.

The stockings we had hung
By the fireplace with care
Now look forlorn
Cause there’s just nothing there.

Toys, blocks and legos
Were strewn on the floor
Totally surrounded 
By wrapping paper galore.

I slumped on the sofa
My hangover was bad
As I tried to remember 
How much fun we had.

Then out on the lawn
I heard such a clatter
I stumbled to my feet
To see what was the matter.

I spotted Santa getting out
Of a big limousine
The look on his face
Was the worst I had ever seen.

He looked at me sadly
With a shake of his head
“You ain’t gonna believe
What my GPS said.”

“Nothing in this world can 
Make me get over my stress
Many presents I delivered
Were to the wrong address.”

“They want me to fix this
Now, today.
I’ve got news for them
I ain’t gonna play.”

“There’s a new outfit in town
That can take over my chore
You probably know it already
It’s called Amazon store.”

Monday, April 29, 2019

Poem of the Day

By: Judith Stanton

A dozen years ago you bought
this isolated farm, enticing me to
come live with you on a lazy country road
sometimes an hour or two between
cars and trucks, the odd tractor

Now the bridge over Brooks Creek
Is blocked for repairs for the next
one hundred days detours anywhere
we try to go to town to stores to meetings
tonight tomorrow, none I come to learn
more confusing  or elusive as I discover
than the pathways
to your guarded heart.