Micro Fiction Challenge: Dark & Stormy
Posted by David Duhr in 
Discussion questions: In fifty (50) words or fewer, write a scene or story that includes the phrase “a dark and stormy night.” Write or paste your story into the comments. The winner will get a free book, courtesy of WriteByNight.
As much as I love Snoopy, he wasn’t the first writer to begin a story with “It was a dark and stormy night.” That honor, as far as we know, belongs to Edward Bulwer-Lytton, a writer who today is known mostly for an annual contest in his name that rewards the worst opening line of an imaginary novel.
I like the idea of writing something intentionally bad. But I also like the idea of turning a ridiculous cliche into something of quality. So let’s do that, in this month’s Micro Fiction Challenge.
What Is This Contest and How Do I Enter?
In fifty (50) words or fewer, write a story or scene that includes (but doesn’t have to begin with) the phrase “It was a dark and stormy night.”
Enter as many times as you wish.
Write or paste your response in the comments section below.
Get your entries in by the end of Friday, September 20.
Our favorite story will earn its writer a book from the WBN library; I’ll throw out some options, you choose the one that most intrigues you.
You’ll Choose a Winner Based on What, Exactly?
Effort. Humor. Mood. Whimsy!
I’ll also take the number of thumbs-ups into account. So if you really like someone else’s story, be a sport and click on the thumb.
Good luck! Have fun!
WriteByNight co-founder David Duhr is fiction editor at the Texas Observer and co-host of the Yak Babies podcast, and has written about books for the Dallas Morning News, Electric Literature, Publishing Perspectives, and others.
WriteByNight is a writers’ service dedicated to helping you achieve your creative potential and literary goals. We work with writers of all experience levels working in all genres, nationwide and worldwide. If you have a 2019 writing project that you’d like a little help with, take a look at our book coaching, private instruction and writer’s block counseling services. Join our mailing list and get a FREE writer’s diagnostic, “Common problems and SOLUTIONS for the struggling writer.”
The doorbell rang. It was a dark and stormy night. Who could be visiting at this late hour? I wasn’t expecting anyone. I pulled back the curtain to peak at the strange shadowy figure, who was holding something in his hands. I reluctantly opened the door. Suddenly, a bouquet of flowers was forced upon me.
It was on a dark and story night they stopped. Shoving the duffel in, I slammed the door.
She stared at my Army nametag.
“Garcia?”
“Yeah.
“You don’t look Mexican with red hair and them freckles.”
I knew right then I should of killed the white boy.
I’m picturing Texas.
What a brave protagonist, to even open the door. Almost as brave as being the first one to enter this contest. Thanks, Julie!
Their eyes met across a crowded room. Suddenly everything around him disappeared except her, and the sun shone brighter for him. She saw him as a diamond in the rough. As they came together, she saw a rather large wart at the end of his nose. The music stopped, the sun disappeared behind a cloud. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not going to work, really. Please don’t blame yourself…it’s me, not you.” She turned and walked away. The night became dark and stormy. As he watched her substantial buttocks retreat, he thought, “Time heals all wounds, I guess. Maybe the… Read more »
Title suggestion…”Cut To the Chase – A Modern Romance”
Alternate title suggestion…”Substantial Buttocks Retreat”
LMFBO.
Good just check your word count :-)
I know…went way over. I’m finding this is a great exercise in tightening up the prose.
:-) —It really does make one think. Very nice exercise!
I love this. Poor guy. I appreciate the ability to switch POV in such a short space.
I’m really having fun with this exercise.
Same entry, but I brought it to about 50 words:
Their eyes met across a crowded room. Everything disappeared except her. As they came together, she saw a wart on his nose. The music stopped. Silence. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not going to work…it’s me, not you.” She walked away. The night became dark and stormy. He watched her substantial buttocks retreat.
It was a dark and stormy night, not the weather report, but the atmosphere in the winnebago shared by Tubbs and his ‘mail-order’ bride. She threw everything that wasn’t bolted down at his head or crotch. No telling what foul curses she was uttering in Russian. It was his night to die.
That’s what Tubbs gets for Russian into things…
hahaha I like the pun!
Golly.
Now we get to wonder what prompted her outburst. I like it. He probably had it coming.
Bridezilla
They were named Dark and Stormy. Dark was the perfect name for her—she was moody, filled with an indeterminate ennui. Stormy danced circles around Dark, trying to get her to play with him. Finally he raced off to find a different playmate. The sound of hoofbeats faded into the distance.
Charlie awoke to a muffled, banging sound. Picking up his revolver, he crept to the front door. A figure was on the porch. He turned on the light. It was his Grandmother, not some potential burglar. She was soaking wet because it was a dark and stormy night.
But does he pull the trigger anyway?
just like Jason .Kill her !
“indeterminate ennui”! I love that. It should definitely be the story title.
My mother and father met when she worked at a bookbindery across from Dad’s house. On their first date they doubled with his brother Donald and girl friend. They went to a drive-in theater, but missed the show. It was a dark and stormy night
And they never noticed the management turned off the screen.
And years later my father changed his name to Bob Seger and wrote a song called Night Moves…
Oh, I assumed from the beginning it was Bob.
Well done. Though it won’t be long before anyone reading this will wonder what a drive-in theater is. And, dare I say, a bookbindery?
The tent flap wrenching repeatedly awakened him. His flashlight battery was almost dead. It was a dark and stormy night. “Curse you, Charlie Brown!” he thought. Snoopy’s scout troop was on it’s very first camping trip and it was not going very well at all
Excellent! Extra points for being the first to include a Snoopy reference. You know the way to my heart.
“Go or no Go?” It was tense on the launch pad. The astronauts were in the capsule poised for their trip to the moon. However, it was a dark and stormy night. Word came from Mission Control, “Scrub it!!” “We’re never going to get there this way,” said an astronaut!”
Someone forgot to look at the weather report.
It was a dark and stormy night. He stood at the edge and thought of jumping. The memory of her voice, her touch, her humor, her laughter at Rod Serling’s wierdly-sized head…his tears fell. Then…he jumped…onto the pogo stick and bounced over to meet his date.
Well played, good sir. Is this a story you first wrote for one of your high school English classmates?
It was a dark and stormy night. Carlyle and Merkin poured out the acid and lit cigars. The rain would do the rest. “Goodbye, Portnoy”, Merkin chortled. Carlyle whirled on him, “You idiot! That’s the wrong Phillip Roth novel!” Merkin’s lack of culture had tripped them up again…
Which is the correct Philip Roth novel?
Leaving Chesterfield on a dark and stormy night seemed fitting, since my time here has been filled with dark and dreary days. Sunshine warms my skin and fills the dark corners of my soul as I look in the rear view mirror I read, you are now leaving Chesterfield.
Ooh, I like this. Especially using the first words as the last words. Well done, Denise!
Thanks
It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning flashed, revealing the purple plastic pentagon in the dirt where Dutch Schultz and Lulu Rosencrantz had buried it. Carlyle smiled at Merkin, who gri need back. Anachronistic smuggling using time travel was the best thing they’d ever come up with.
You know you want to write a novel about these people and this purple pentagon. Just do it.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Tick, tick, tick, my mind has taken flight.
Off to where I dare not know.
Try to follow, you dare not go.
Flowers blooming, rain is falling,
In the distance a car is stalling.
On a plane, I’ve taken flight.
It all started on a dark and stormy night.
Hey, unfair! It’s supposed to be a bad writing contest, and this is actually good…
Thanks!
Hi Denise,
I admire anyone who can throw together a nicely complete verse on such short notice, rhythm and rhymes and all. You should write song lyrics.
Very nice. Thanks, Denise.
Thanks
It was a dark and stormy night.
ZOOM, my mind has taken flight.
Off to where, dare I go?
Follow, if you care to know.
Flowers blooming, rain’s falling.
In the distance a car is stalling.
On a plan I’ve taken flight.
It started on a dark and stormy night.
David I counted and realized I had more than 50 words, revised it. Don’t like it as much as the first one ?
Snoopy couldn’t see, as it was a dark and stormy night, but he caught the sour-apple scent of Lucy and the leather of her football. Off to torment Charlie, again. He growled. He caught up his typewriter, and skulking unseen in the darkness, set it down. She tripped. He snickered.
The sour-apple scent of Lucy! I love that.
David, I chose two winners this time: one for best story, and another–you–for best Peanuts-related story. Thanks for this; I loved it. Email me and I’ll send your prize: david[at]writebynight[dot]net
It was, well, a dark, um, stormy night and the only light came from the fireplace. We were on our last log. The light in the living room flickered, dimmed. Embers. Why call it that–living? We’ve been waiting, playing rummy, drunk, dead drunk. Shadows: We feast on memory.
“We feast on memory”. Love that.
Yeah, seconded.
This is definitely a contender. Moody. Thanks, Garrett.
I’d always dreamt of writing a book.
One night I woke up in the middle of the night with an idea.
Next morning I told my husband “I’m going to write a mystery”
He said, “Let me guess, the first line will be: It was a dark and stormy night.”
I like the ambiguity here. Is he being supportive, or is he being sarcastic and sabotaging?
“It was a dark and stormy night”, Carlyle grimaced at the words and ripped the page from the typer. He shook his head. Only the most cliched opening line in the history of literature. He stubbed out his cigar on the sleeping Merkin’s face. Writing was hard. So was go-karting.
Very meta, very meta. Sometimes you need to start with cliches to spin some original magic.
It was a dark and stormy night. Bedminster Faron III quizzically bounced the purple plastic pentagon in his left hand. Suddenly, a Sopwith Camel appeared. “Curse you, Bed Faron!”, yelled Carlyle the pilot, as co-pilot Merkin dropped brown M&Ms left over from an 80s Van Halen concert.
Oh man, solid reference. For some reason I thought it was Skid Row that demanded no brown M&Ms. I’m happier to know it was VH.
Clair’s turn. She began with as deep a voice as she could muster. “It was a dark and stormy night…” Lois, the only other girl at the campfire giggled.
Buddy said, “oh Christ.”
Ralph broke in, “Let her tell her story!”
Clair stopped, fled into the darkness. It was waiting…
Spooky, and well done. I like that the “it” could mean anything. Sure, it *could* mean the darkness, but even that’s ambiguous. What happens next?
It was a dark and stormy night.
Yet the moon and stars were bright.
Sleep proving elusive; I held her close, a futile attempt to ward off dark terrors that occupied her nights.
“Will this suffering never end?” I petitioned the dark.
“Depression is my friend,” murmured an unsympathetic night.
Oh man, Gary, this is good. Very dark.
I squinted against sprays of saltwater leaping the motorboat’s bow. Marcine white-knuckled the railing. Her son’s journal lay open against the plexiglass, pictures of him gunning down classmates with an assault rifle, and ominous words: “It will be a dark and stormy night.” God willing, we’d reach him before…
Wow. Gut-punch
Boy, that’s heavy. And vivid. Very well done.
Do you know you won last month’s contest? https://www.writebynight.net/micro-fiction-club/micro-fiction-challenge-the-coffin-had-no-body-in-it/#comment-57796
It was a dark and stormy night inside the snow globe, going bump bump bump down the hardwood stairs and onto the oblivious Roomba, which bucked it off in a dainty kitchen pirouette, waking the puppy and precipitating that unfortunate incident with the fishbowl and an apocalypse of Legos.
Fiction is writing to build a world…
Roombas (Roombi?) and puppies, as we’re learning, DO NOT MIX. So this was bound to happen sooner or later.
I like “apocalypse of Legos.
Mom began story night with her classic line. “Barking morning fight? Like me and Grandma?” “Pops, your hearing aid?” “What?” Mom continued. “The moon rose full…” “Noon Rosebowl?” “Never mind,” Mom said. “Gramps doesn’t believe in ghosts anyway.” “Not goats. Cows.” “With darkly thorny hides” I offered. Scary. DISCLAIMER: I am not making fun of old people, like me, although I work with them and they say the funniest things when they mishear something. I’ve noticed they miss the consonants and get the vowels. The above line about goats and cows was actually uttered (not uddered,Kevin) by my Dad and… Read more »
No need for a disclaimer! I love to make fun of people and since I’m old (my parents even older) everyone is fair game. If you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?
It was a darkly thorny hide…and Dwayne came falling down…Embarrassed, he unwrapped the black leather jacket from around his ankles and read “Razorbacks MC” in blood-red letters.
“Hogs on Hogs?”, he wondered.
“Frogs on logs?”, asked Murderella, his wife. Years of working as roadies for Dented Skull had affected their hearing.
Oooh Razorbacks–in a band? Who are they? Now I think we may be going somewhere. If I changed cows to pigs, then we could have a story where Grandpa is more terrified than the people who hear the story correctly because he thinks it’s about wild boars with thorny hides. Tell me, is dented head the name of an actual band?
Murderella!
Maybe my favorite part of this wonderful scene is how you don’t even use the words but rather imply them, and so seamlessly.
Hey Susan, I agree with David. The way you write around the words, forcing the reader to fill in the blanks…like “Ariel” by Sylvia Plath where you can see and feel the horse galloping without it being specified.
Sucking his thumb, he listened as his parents shouted to one another outside his door.
“Did you close his windows?”
“On it. Did you bring his tricycle in from the porch?”
“Going now.”
It was a dark and stormy night, but little Caleb dropped off to sleep; safe and adored.
Aw, and his little trike was safe from the rain and rust. “As his parents shouted” got me thinking this would take a dark turn, but I’m glad it didn’t. Sometimes it’s just nice to have a pleasant story where nothing awful happens.
exactly thanks
It was a dark and stormy night when the body of Elijah Weatherby washed up on the bank of the Tallahatchie River. The body would’ve gone unnoticed had it not been for the unfortunate timing of Agnes Wooten, who’d picked that particular location for his late evening frog gigging expedition.
Well done, Kathy. I’m not sure what I want more: to know what happened before or to know what happens next.
It was a dark and stormy night when two men were about to fight. “Who are you?” asked Cecil. “None ya,” replied Doc who wanted nothing more than to be left alone. The bartender shoved another drink in Cecil’s general direction. The bartender chuckled to himself, “If they only knew.”
I like this, but I’m dying to know what knowledge the bartender has that I don’t!
It was a dark and stormy night. Already apprehensive about the morbid task he was to undertake, Carl stepped through the door of his brownstone as he pulled up the collar of his coat. This weather did nothing to alleviate his unease as the cold cut through to his bones.
The thing I like most about this is we don’t know whether Carl is stepping through the door *into* his brownstone or out of it. Does the morbid task involve his loved ones inside, or is he leaving them behind to go do something grisly? I’d very much want to read on to find out.
I labored with you for 24 hours. The cloudless August sky dissolved into a dark and stormy night, with not so much as a beam of moonlight to brighten your coming. A bolt of lightning split me down the middle when your cry thundered through the house.
Wow, this packs a real punch, in such a short space. A definite finalist.
Wow! Thank you so much! I just gave birth to my firstborn son 3 weeks ago so I guess it’s still very fresh on my mind! Birth definitely packs a punch.
as they say if man had to bear children. The world would cease.
Congrats, Camille! You’re the winner of this hotly contested… contest. Such an excellent story. Email me to claim your prize: david[at]writebynight[dot]net
Wow!!! Thank you so much!!
Amontillado wine causing one to behave badly by burying a body behind bricks and mortar; swinging pendulum; murders in the Rue Morgue; eyes that tell tales of a cold, delusional heart; and schizophrenics who are seized and strangled by their sister. Poe thrills best on a dark and stormy night.
I love this. So true. Which story is about a schizophrenic strangled by his/her sister? That one’s not familiar to me, but it sounds up my alley.
Thank you- it’s The Fall of the House of Usher
Tori looked at the smear on her silk blouse. Wendy’s pomegranate salad dressing. She should’ve skipped lunch. Now she was headed to a reception for the very meticulous Governor. It was a dark and stormy night, so she hoped he wouldn’t notice. Issues of state aren’t always evaluated on merit.
I love the last line in particular. Thanks, Margaret!
“It WAS a dark and stormy night,” he insisted.
“You doofus, you proposed at an outdoor concert in Destin,” she said.
“Well, maybe it stormed later that night,” he said with a question in his voice.
“No, we walked the beach until sunrise.”
“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”
“Ya think?”
This is great. There’s obviously some deeper meaning behind his insistence that his proposal was accompanied by rain and thunder.
A light pulsed beyond the drizzle. It was a dark and stormy night for the Fourth of July. The sparks flew, but they went unnoticed, colors and flames wasted. Bravery was celebrated by only a few who saw beyond the purple clouds and gray smoke. The rest looked away.
Very nice, Cyrena. I just wrote a scene in my novel about a rainy Fourth of July parade. We must be in sync.
Thank you!
Vagrants in bad neighborhoods know little about fine bourbon. It was a dark and stormy night when he guzzled the last drop from the bottle he’d snatched from a new pickup. “Stolen,” he imagined while breaking into a building. He lit a cigarette. A sign read “3 Finger Freddy’s Firewor…
Well done, Bob. Moody but amusing.
The sun was setting and the clouds rolled in as Mrs. Night looked at her twin daughters. When ask there names, she was still groggy from child birth and instead of, “They are. . .” ,she said, “It was a Dark and Stormy Night.”
Thanks for this, William. It made me smile.
On dark and stormy nights
There is little to be seen
From torrents of rain
Diminishing light from moon beams
Thunder booms and lightning pops
Many are anxious with fright
But I lay my head down and dream peacefully
On dark and stormy nights
Very nice. I appreciate the repetition in particular.
Thank you very much
It was a dark and stormy night. After soaping my washcloth I looked up into the bathroom mirror. Besides my own reflection, I saw HIM standing in the tub behind me. A scream started from my throat. I turned and slapped him in the eyes with the hot,soapy washcloth.
Good lord, this is one of my worst nightmares. Mirror stuff always gets me. Good job, Doris.
Hi David…this is actually a condensed version of a REAL dream. Thank you for the comment. Doris
I took your hand on a dark and stormy night and pocketed it. No zombie had ever given me such a touching present. I’m sorry our love went south. I’m sorry I flushed your fingers down the toilet in a fit of pique, one by one by one.
Good lord do I love this.
How beautiful, walking through the canopy of trees providing shade on my farm, miles away you could see. I imagined hearing symphonies through swaying winds of harmonies. Yellow, red, and orange melodies ringed, if only leaves could sing. Thunder rang suddenly, awaking me from a dream. It was a dark and stormy night.
Well done, Jeaniene. Very lyrical.
Arm hairs standing erect, icy sweat drenching my brow, and my throat tightly constricting, I stood frozen in fear- staring at him as I horrifically remembered that dark and stormy night when his long fingers, which once lovingly caressed me, murderously clenched and tightened like a vise around my neck.
This reads like a great companion piece to Doris’ story above. Are you two collaborating?!
Nice work Mary Alice…..from: Doris
Thank you, Doris!
Thank you, but no, sir. :-)
Blah blah blah, is all I hear as I stare out at the dark and stormy night. When I look in the direction of Bob’s voice I hear in it’s place, and the winning numbers are 3-6-8. My lucky numbers, the numbers I didn’t play tonight because I didn’t want to brave the storm.
It was a dark and stormy night, for miles I could see lightenings fright. Peace from within stilled my plight. The rain beat against my windows, and the pounding of the shutters against the house, was evidence of an intense fight. Electricity diminished but the moon gave light which to my delight made the darkness alright.
“Looks like it might never stop.” Legion stared out the windshield.
“It was a dark and stormy night,” Gino wisecracked.
“Yeah.” Legion lit a smoke.
“Roll down the window.” Gino waved the smoke away.
“Dark and stormy, remember?”
The dark gray Acura was the one they were watching.
They sat in the lot outside BigBoys alongside an old Ford banger, a rice-burner, and a spray-painted Chevy. You know, the kind of shit-rides that took all a kid’s money just to keep alive. The storm above them raged. It was a dark and stormy night.
BigBoy’s Restaurant?? I hung out in a few of them back in the day.
It was a dark and stormy night. I didn’t care, as I lay in my out-of-the-elements bed. It was a bright calm morning. I didn’t care because there were hundreds of refugees from last night’s storm on the lawns and rooftops until they flew away. And I did care.
It was a dark and stormy night. I didn’t care. I lay in my out-of-the-elements bed. It was a bright calm morning. I didn’t care. There were hundreds of refugees from last night’s storm on the lawns and rooftops. Then they flew away. Did I care?
( Inspired by you all, I just HAD to edit my entry!!! ;-)
The hanged man song says:
“It was a dark and stormy night
“When your justice killed me
“I swing and swivel, at the wind pleasure,
“I visited your wife, in your bedchamber
“Received her love, from you no mercy,
To swing and swivel, by my side, I shall have you”
“Sit down, Tucker! Ella, please stop singing!” Sighing heavily, I continued, “You all need to listen. You can’t focus if you’re chattering nonsensically.” Thunder boomed and lightning cracked. My eyes popping open, I jumped out of bed awakening on this dark and stormy night from my nightmare of 3rd graders.
Captain James William Petty glared into the dark and stormy night. The bow on his ship “express” would disappear into the Small snow storm turned blizzard. On the great Superior. When it is said she never gives up her dead. If the good ship could put twelve miles behind her.
The Captain wired in, he had water coming in…
“It was a dark and stormy night,” wrote Trevor on his loose leaf. His pencil paused in mid thought. Miss Grady glanced over his shoulder. “Cliché,” she hissed, snatching the paper and crumpling it in her claw like hands. Trevor watched her walk away. The storm had just started brewing.
Gigantic asteroidal chunks gouged the Earth, exploding like bombs- setting off earthquakes, tsunamis, avalanches, and forest and grass fires- devastating the landscape. Many dark and stormy days and nights prevailed- the darkest end of night and time for the dinosaurs who stormed the Earth no more.
It was a dark and stormy night. Rain peppered onto the crumpled car. Thunder boomed. Clayton shook off the pain in his chest, batted at the air bag, and climbed out. The other driver lay motionless in the road. Relieved, Clayton popped the trunk and checked his passenger. Still dead.
A cold wind began to howl on a dark and stormy night . Something colder than rain began to pelt him like stones, the branches became coated with ice. The wind took his cries and flung then away unheard. The tree that had been his challenge, now became the cat’s nightmare.
Ohhhh, I like that! (We have a cat who loves getting herself stuck in trees.)
thank you Beti