Part I: Connor and the Lined Paper

The real beast I want to slay would be NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), but this year I will be battling NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) instead. Starting today until the end of November, I will be writing a short story made up of daily posts. These daily posts will follow the daily prompt from The Daily Post and will all combine together into one complete story. My goal is to try to find a middle ground between NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo. The greatest challenge I foresee is that I will not know what the daily prompt is until the day of, so the story may become very hard to connect together. I’m giving it a try, though! Today’s daily prompt: The Spice of Success

If “failure is the condiment that gives success its flavor” (Truman Capote), how spicy do you like your success stories?

And so the story of Connor begins…


“Son, failure is the condiment that gives success its flavor.”

Connor did not know what a condiment was, but it must be a type of food if his father was talking about flavors. His favorite flavor was chocolate. Does a condiment taste like chocolate? He wanted to ask him, but Father’s attention had already snapped back to the papers on his desk.

Father always had papers on his desk. They were always piled neatly in rectangular mountains of crisp whiteness and little black text. They looked nothing like the flimsy lined paper Connor used at school and no matter how hard he tried to print nicely, his words were never able to keep Father’s attention for long. Connor needed to find some nice white paper, then maybe Father will let him put it on his desk to read. Maybe he’ll give him some chocolate too.

“Mother, what is a con-ment?”

“Oh, don’t mind your father, he must be very busy with work. It doesn’t mean he has no comments.”

Connor looked down again at his lined paper. Mother seemed to like it, but the more he looked at it the more he hated the way the blue lines took up the whole page and how his teacher scribbled all over it with red X’s.He thought about what Father said to him again- flavor, con-ment (he still didn’t know what that word meant), and what else?

Failure. Connor knew that word. One time Samantha in his class was crying at recess because she failed the math test. She said her mother and father would be very mad at her. Were Father and Mother mad at him? He could tell Mother wasn’t mad, but Connor wasn’t so sure about Father. But then again, Connor was never really sure about anything when it came to Father.

All of a sudden, the word “con-ment” didn’t seem so delicious. Perhaps “con-ment” is a bad word if he used it in the same sentence as “failure”. Maybe Father was furious at him and his hideous blue and red paper. Connor’s throat felt dry like that anthill he saw at the park yesterday. His brown eyes burned and Connor wondered if Mother was making very spicy soup in the kitchen. No, it must be medicinal soup. Connor could already taste something bitter on his tongue.

“Oh Connor, don’t cry. I’m sure you tried your best and I know you can get all the words right on the next test.”

Connor loved Mother very much, especially when she hugged him. But he still hated the paper in his hands very much. To be continued…

eb66a206fcba478341eac3efd4d5ac5d Sincerely, Loewe

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4 thoughts on “Part I: Connor and the Lined Paper

To Loewe:

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