I’ve Been Posting One Story Every Day to Instagram and Twitter
What?
I’ve written a whole bunch of ‘nano narratives’ and have and will be posting them on Instagram and Twitter every day, until I run out of ideas or perish at the age of ninety-three.
Why?
I’ve been a bit slack on Medium of late, but I haven’t stopped writing. I’m just going very short, and combining my love of writing with my love of coding.
What do you mean?
I’ve written a cheeky little Node script to run off a daily Github Action to automate the posting of the stories to Instagram and Twitter through their developer APIs. You can check that out here if you’d like.
When are you gonna write another short story and slap it on Medium?
Hopefully soon, and hopefully I stick to some sort of a schedule this time, which has been lacking. Although it’ll have to fit around my plan to go bigger and better this year and give the novel a crack (finally).
I don’t have Instagram or Twitter. Can we get a dump of what you’ve posted so far?
Yeah, you seem like alright bloke/sheila. Here ya go.
FYI: Each new line is a new story.
Stefan stepped back from the alley wall to admire his artwork. For a split second, as the first blue and red lights flashed, it was more beautiful than he could have possibly imagined.
The $250,000 Mercedes came out of the crash looking just as worse for wear as Ryan’s $2500 Mitsubishi sedan.
A member of the Chinese delegation dropped one right after the morning status meeting. It had the other ISS occupants wishing they could just open a window.
Like a mother duck and her ducklings, the family trailed out of the 7-Eleven, clutching their extra-large Slurpies, all in matching UGG boots.
Just like he’d once done with his records, Ryan packed away his jeans and joggers until they were one day cool again.
Thanks to a clumsy software developer, Annabelle’s entire self-worth was stripped away as quickly as her follower count went to zero on Instagram.
Onlookers watched, rugged-up and clutching coffee cups. The surfers, on the other hand, rushed headlong into the fray, neoprene-clad and clutching boards glistening with fresh wax.
The bartender just couldn’t do it anymore. After receiving the next order of espresso martinis, he snagged a bottle of Jägermeister, tore off his apron, and walked out.
The bin wasn’t going to take itself out, but try telling that to the three hungover housemates.
The kid hated taking the wheelie bins to the kerb, so he invented a game. The faster he could do the chore, he told himself, the less germs would get on him, and the less chance he would become a monster and try to take over the world.
The very hungry anarchist was disappointed to find the cookbook he had didn’t have any recipes for food.
The Virgo told the Aries that they’d not longer be befriending Leos until the bloody civil war between the Sagittarius’ and the Pisces’ came to its inevitable conclusion.
There was no way the twenty-four hour deodorant was standing up to Mike, his 150kg frame, and the beep test he was about to embark on.
Yes, no, maybe so, said the indecisive poet.
On a beautiful summer’s day, the gamer completed his dream PC setup. As his chair caressed his arse, he drew the blinds and began to play.
Macy was a serious girl, who took everything seriously, including how totally not serious she was.
The ocean swimmers rounded the island, dodged some sharks, fended off a feisty barracuda, rescued a turtle from some plastic and completed several other heroic, 100% embellished deeds that they talked about incessantly during the post-swim beers.
The magpie had decided enough was enough. It was time the Earth-bound human bike rider learned not to fuck with it.
The woman didn’t hear the lightning strike in her backyard. Not over the sound of her hairdryer.
Jess structured the cheeseboard so well that she decided no-one was to eat from it; the only satiation they would get from it would be visual.
Her lowest point, she finally admitted, was somehow killing her plastic plant.
Chase, like his namesake, started the final lap trying in vain to hunt down the pack so he wouldn’t, once again, come last.
They didn’t put up that much of a fight in the end. The sweaty, downtrodden pluggers finally let go and broke as Bert attempted to sprint for the train on that hot summers day.
Small Katie pretended the mountain of broccoli on her plate was a felled forest, where once strange and magical creatures had lived. This only strengthened her resolve not to eat it.
One day, George reached the end of the endless scroll on Facebook. So he opened Instagram.
In her canvas bag, Taryn stacked high her range of candles, essential oils, and myriad facial creams. Her boyfriend would not be impressed with this haul.
Under the bright lights of the suburban court, the two friends danced to Lorde and, once in a while, attempted to play tennis.
Before she imploded from the dark hole of anxiety in the pit of her stomach, Grace focused her entire being on a droplet of water sliding down the shower glass.
The firebug drowned his desires by purchasing several dozen scented candles.
The mask mandate had him worried. Usually, his big smile was the only thing that dragged the attention away from his two gigantic eyebrows.
Her teddy bear, Max, paralysed on the shelf, couldn’t help but watch in horror as Sophia went all the way with her boyfriend for the very first time.
The enthusiastic candle gazed at the roaring fireplace and dreamed.
The motley crew sang, strummed and drummed their way into the hearts and minds of the pissed patrons.
There was no way that, in the end, the hat would suppress the splendour of the curls.
The way the clouds behind her were darkening gave Erin the push she needed to get home before the rain started, and break her personal best.
Kylie, Kendall, Kim, Kourtney and Khloe konsidered kayaking to get a kebab, but the knowledge of killer whales and the kilojoules kneecapped that.
When Harry exited the bottle-o with the longnecks, he thought he could taste vomit, but it passed quickly. He shuddered in anticipation.
The air conditioner was trying its hardest, but it was still sworn at by the sweating family.
Just to mess with his customers in the days post-lockdown, Jian updated his shop bell to be the same tone as the Zoom user-joining sound.
Dean the dentist also dabbled in technology — Bluetooth technology, in particular.
The women lay stock still on their beach towels. Any movement would result in an uneven tan, so it was of paramount importance they lay like the dead.
The temperature had only dropped a couple degrees, but it was enough for the thermals, two jumpers, jacket, beanie and the gloves to come out.
The pigeon waited for the train doors to open before hopping off and leaving in its wake bewildered and shat-on commuters.
The enterprising kids started painting nails for the absurdly cheap price of $2 a hand. Somewhere, Jeff Bezos shuddered and looked over his shoulder.
Collin received his colonoscopy with as much grace as he could muster. The bowel cancer that had torn its way through his family had to stop with someone.
A rainbow burst from a banksia bush; the lorikeet flew off into the bright morning sun.
Larry never refrained from ordering a babyccino for himself. A frothy reminder of simpler times.
The vegan cafe had sat across the road from the butchers for nigh on ten years. The owners were good mates, and told their employees to flip each other off in jest.
Jamie tossed up a coffee or an energy drink. In the end, she just decided to take a nap and blow off work for the day.
The women in the wide-brimmed hats cast more shade than a Comedy Central roast.
After the children had created their magnum opus on the restaurant table cloth, their genius was bundled into a washing machine and purged.
Face-masked, checked-in, double-vaxxed, the pub patron prepared for alcoholic carnage.
The once-grand forest tree began its multitude of new lives as a couple hundred chopping boards.
The sushi kit joined the pasta-maker at the back of the cupboard, where it would remain untouched for another year and a half.
Vincent van Gogh, looking down from whatever Heaven, saw the rise of NFTs and cursed himself for being born too early.
Though his north-facing apartment might have been good for resale value, Chris was cursing it now as he drew the blinds after night shift.
It was not the graffiti that was impressive — it was however the hell the artist was able to climb up there to paint it.
In the middle of a suburban reserve — of tall, sparse trees and sprawling grass — a bike jump. A shovel was poorly hidden amongst some bushes — for maintenance.
The skateboarder’s eyes lit up at seeing the smooth new concrete and railing.
The kids, who’d taken ten minutes out of the day to make and consume a Slurpee, left their rubbish behind, safe in the knowledge that the cups would break down after only 1000 years.
The mobile tower, made to look like a tree, wasn’t fooling anyone, except for the short-sighted.
The bar with the exposed brick walls passed it off as stylish decor, but with three-hour happy hours and sticky-fingered staff, they simply couldn’t afford anything else.
One day, the turtles attacked. From the Great Pacific Garbage Patch they struck with weapons made from years of dumped human rubbish. They lay waste to nations with the very straws they had once choked on.
The straight, white mail was delivered in a timely manner.
The rainbow balloon was stuck, trapped in both a tree and a luminous sunset.
The new employee literally used his standing desk all day. What he hadn’t told his impressed coworkers was that he had been a Queen’s Guard before he’d snagged this job. Standing was his bread and butter.
The office Christmas party finally kicked into higher gear once the interns got stuck into the house tequila.
Donating blood was certainly rewarding, but it wasn’t quite the same as volunteering at a soup kitchen. Or donating semen.
Tracey took a great deal of pleasure in placing the cursor in the middle of the two-hour movie that she’d put on for her students when she was hungover.
The spirits collection, so excitedly purchased for the share house in anticipation for weekly cocktail sessions, was quickly depleted. It was too far from payday to replenish, so the housemates gave up on their bougie, boozy dreams.
The coal executive became one because there was no way in hell he’d see solar become the dominant form of energy. Not after he’d witnessed his father falling off the roof trying to install them when we was a kid.
The Gatorade gazed at the woman through the fridge door. It watched her purchase another mixer for her bottle of vodka. Soon, it thought, she would be back for it.
To stop the rabid junk mail from racing through the slot, Rebecca built a shredder and placed it inside the mailbox.
Slowly the cash disappeared, then the cards, then the wallet from the pocket entirely. On, the human race marched.
Gustav, who stole organs for a living, liked to joke that he was “insider trading”.
The train driver used his monotonous drawl to inspire the commuters he was carrying to seize the day.
