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July
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Maryland Author: Sujata Massey Genre: Mystery
“Mystery readers are just great readers. They’re loyal and supportive ...” Sujata Massey
Sujata Massey. (1964 - ) Sujata was born in England to parents from India and Germany and was raised mostly in St. Paul, Minnesota. It was during her college years at Johns Hopkins University that Massey decided upon writing as a career. She holds a B.A. in the Writing Seminars from the Johns Hopkins University, was a features reporter for the Baltimore Evening Sun, and has made Baltimore her home for more than a quarter century. She is now a full-time novelist and the author of thirteen novels, two novellas, and numerous short stories. Read more about Sujata Masey at: www.sujatamassey.com.
Genre – Mystery: A genre that revolves around the solution of a problem or a crime, usually a mysterious death. It focuses on the efforts of the detective, private investigator or amateur sleuth to solve the mysterious circumstances of an issue by means of clues, investigation, and clever deduction. The plot often centers on the deductive ability, prowess, confidence, or diligence of the detective as they attempt to unravel the crime or situation by piecing together clues and circumstances, seeking evidence, interrogating witnesses, and tracking down a criminal.
A partial reading list includes: The Widows of Malabar Hill; India Gray; The Salaryman’s Wife; The Flower Master; The Pearl Diver.
Fun With Words - Maryland Writers’ Association (MWA) invites you to have fun writing part of a mystery story using only 100 words. In your 100 words, weave together the main character (Taylor), a parade, a dark basement, a scream, and a screwdriver into a mystery.
When you are done writing, please submit your Fun With Words response to www.mwawritersroundtable.org/submit-fun-with-words by the 20th of the month and receive an MWA Fun With Words Submission Certificate. Selected prompts will be published next month.
Genre – Mystery: A genre that revolves around the solution of a problem or a crime, usually a mysterious death. It focuses on the efforts of the detective, private investigator or amateur sleuth to solve the mysterious circumstances of an issue by means of clues, investigation, and clever deduction. The plot often centers on the deductive ability, prowess, confidence, or diligence of the detective as they attempt to unravel the crime or situation by piecing together clues and circumstances, seeking evidence, interrogating witnesses, and tracking down a criminal.
A partial reading list includes: The Widows of Malabar Hill; India Gray; The Salaryman’s Wife; The Flower Master; The Pearl Diver.
Fun With Words - Maryland Writers’ Association (MWA) invites you to have fun writing part of a mystery story using only 100 words. In your 100 words, weave together the main character (Taylor), a parade, a dark basement, a scream, and a screwdriver into a mystery.
When you are done writing, please submit your Fun With Words response to www.mwawritersroundtable.org/submit-fun-with-words by the 20th of the month and receive an MWA Fun With Words Submission Certificate. Selected prompts will be published next month.
Writer's Prompt Responses
Maryland Writers’ Association (MWA) invites you to have fun writing part of a mystery story using only 100 words. In your 100 words, weave together the main character (Taylor), a parade, a dark basement, a scream, and a screwdriver into a mystery.
Sharon Hale - Frederick News-Post
Taylor skipped toward her front door, bouncing her baton on the steps as she approached. She was late - the parade had been delayed when a thunderstorm passed by - and she was starved. She planned to change out of her majorette uniform before dinner, but the kitchen was dead quiet.
“Mom? Dad?”
Her black Lab, Sully, always greeted her at the door, but he was nowhere.
Taylor entered the kitchen and heard a shrill scream. She turned toward the closed basement door and picked up a screwdriver from the kitchen counter.
She opened the basement door and stared into the dark.
Taylor skipped toward her front door, bouncing her baton on the steps as she approached. She was late - the parade had been delayed when a thunderstorm passed by - and she was starved. She planned to change out of her majorette uniform before dinner, but the kitchen was dead quiet.
“Mom? Dad?”
Her black Lab, Sully, always greeted her at the door, but he was nowhere.
Taylor entered the kitchen and heard a shrill scream. She turned toward the closed basement door and picked up a screwdriver from the kitchen counter.
She opened the basement door and stared into the dark.
Pat Hughes - Frederick News-Post
The walk though the dark basement was made more bizarre by the rattling of the fireworks from the local town parade. Damn, another missed holiday.
Taylor hated dark places. It made her want to scream. Maneuvering past the yellow police tape she gazed upon the lifeless body. He lay face up, eyes wide and fixed as if they were surprised by the demise that had come to them. Blood seeped from the eye sockets pooling around the metal that stuck from its orbit.
So, it was the work of the “Screwdriver Stalker” as he had come to be known.
The walk though the dark basement was made more bizarre by the rattling of the fireworks from the local town parade. Damn, another missed holiday.
Taylor hated dark places. It made her want to scream. Maneuvering past the yellow police tape she gazed upon the lifeless body. He lay face up, eyes wide and fixed as if they were surprised by the demise that had come to them. Blood seeped from the eye sockets pooling around the metal that stuck from its orbit.
So, it was the work of the “Screwdriver Stalker” as he had come to be known.
Kenneth Weiss - Derwood, MD
The MFA wants a mystery in a hundred words, but why?
Taylor took the challenge thoughtlessly; retired to write in a dingy, dark basement but soon had just fifty remaining. He worked on and on, frustration mounting, while his word-count quickly compounded. Still far from the finish, desperation mounting, Taylor let out a scream and plunged his screwdriver-pen deep into his heart. A joyful parade was passing by with pounding drums and coronets, but he was not a part of it. Why oh why must it be just one hundred?
This is, and will be, a mystery.
The MFA wants a mystery in a hundred words, but why?
Taylor took the challenge thoughtlessly; retired to write in a dingy, dark basement but soon had just fifty remaining. He worked on and on, frustration mounting, while his word-count quickly compounded. Still far from the finish, desperation mounting, Taylor let out a scream and plunged his screwdriver-pen deep into his heart. A joyful parade was passing by with pounding drums and coronets, but he was not a part of it. Why oh why must it be just one hundred?
This is, and will be, a mystery.
Joseph Ford – Frederick, MD - Frederick News-Post
“Oh shoot!” The new-fangled magnet (new for the 1950s) wouldn't adhere to her frig, causing Mary's note about the scheduled meeting with private investigator Bud Ihop to float to the floor.
Mary telephoned Ihop about accusations about her stealing money from parking meters just because she was known to purchase expensive prime cuts of beef with rolls and rolls of quarters.
At their meeting at the local breakfast restaurant Mary asked Ihop to plead her case with the local police while they both consumed pancakes and sausages. In appreciation, Mary treated Ihop paying the bill with a roll of quarters.
“Oh shoot!” The new-fangled magnet (new for the 1950s) wouldn't adhere to her frig, causing Mary's note about the scheduled meeting with private investigator Bud Ihop to float to the floor.
Mary telephoned Ihop about accusations about her stealing money from parking meters just because she was known to purchase expensive prime cuts of beef with rolls and rolls of quarters.
At their meeting at the local breakfast restaurant Mary asked Ihop to plead her case with the local police while they both consumed pancakes and sausages. In appreciation, Mary treated Ihop paying the bill with a roll of quarters.
Deborah Crawford – Rocky Ridge - Frederick News Post
Taylor stretched out her legs and propped them on the porch railing as she sat e njoying her morning coffee. A scream pierced the air. She stood up quickly to see where it came from. Heading in the direction of her neighbor, Taylor raced down the front steps and across the lawn just as her neighbor, Miss Valentine, emerged from the dark cellar rubbing her head. “Did you see him?” she shouted to Taylor. Before Taylor could reply Miss Valentine shook her head and muttered “Young people, never see a thing, it would take a parade to capture their attention.”
Taylor stretched out her legs and propped them on the porch railing as she sat e njoying her morning coffee. A scream pierced the air. She stood up quickly to see where it came from. Heading in the direction of her neighbor, Taylor raced down the front steps and across the lawn just as her neighbor, Miss Valentine, emerged from the dark cellar rubbing her head. “Did you see him?” she shouted to Taylor. Before Taylor could reply Miss Valentine shook her head and muttered “Young people, never see a thing, it would take a parade to capture their attention.”
Catherine Cox - Burkittsville, MD - Frederick News-Post
Screwdriver in hand – the orange juice in her drink was Taylor's answer to breakfast – she descended the steps into her sister's dark basement. The boys were on the sofa in the family room, mesmerized for the moment by Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. She’d told Melanie she’d fetch a jar of home-pickled beets. Really, she just needed to be alone for a few minutes. Family time was great, but hard on the nerves. Maybe she’d try calling Jeff again.
When she heard the scream, she thought at first it was the kids’ delight at seeing Pikachou float down Central Park West.
Screwdriver in hand – the orange juice in her drink was Taylor's answer to breakfast – she descended the steps into her sister's dark basement. The boys were on the sofa in the family room, mesmerized for the moment by Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. She’d told Melanie she’d fetch a jar of home-pickled beets. Really, she just needed to be alone for a few minutes. Family time was great, but hard on the nerves. Maybe she’d try calling Jeff again.
When she heard the scream, she thought at first it was the kids’ delight at seeing Pikachou float down Central Park West.
by Patsy Snyder - Ridgeley WV – Cumberland Times
SURRENDER
Music, the don’t rain on my parade song from Funny Girl, that will do it, Taylor said to herself, and I will finally get the laundry started.
She was a procrastinator, but with nothing to wear, she was forced to go to the dreaded basement. Her hands were full of dirty clothes, the steps precarious and wet. She slipped and fell. The scream was automatic.
Picking herself up, she looked to see what was on the steps. It was blood. The basement door was opening slowly. Taylor grabbed the first thing she saw, a screwdriver and held her ground.
SURRENDER
Music, the don’t rain on my parade song from Funny Girl, that will do it, Taylor said to herself, and I will finally get the laundry started.
She was a procrastinator, but with nothing to wear, she was forced to go to the dreaded basement. Her hands were full of dirty clothes, the steps precarious and wet. She slipped and fell. The scream was automatic.
Picking herself up, she looked to see what was on the steps. It was blood. The basement door was opening slowly. Taylor grabbed the first thing she saw, a screwdriver and held her ground.
Penny Knobel-Besa - Cumberland Times
Drinking a screwdriver and watching the 4th of July parade surrounded by its wild and crazy deafening noise of marching bands, fireworks, and kids screaming; but when I looked down it was me who screamed.
All I could see of my seven year old nephew was his backside climbing into a dark basement window. Panic sweat poured down my arm pits as I grabbed for his feet and only got a dirty red sneaker as the window snapped close behind him.
“Scotty!” I called frantically then jumped back as a clown face filled the window simpering, “Did you lose something?”
Drinking a screwdriver and watching the 4th of July parade surrounded by its wild and crazy deafening noise of marching bands, fireworks, and kids screaming; but when I looked down it was me who screamed.
All I could see of my seven year old nephew was his backside climbing into a dark basement window. Panic sweat poured down my arm pits as I grabbed for his feet and only got a dirty red sneaker as the window snapped close behind him.
“Scotty!” I called frantically then jumped back as a clown face filled the window simpering, “Did you lose something?”
Suzanne McCoskey – Cumberland - Cumberland Times-News
As the marchers approached, Julia turned to me, “’Ich habe dir doch gesagt.’ I told you so.”
Okay, so I knew not to expect an American-style parade, but still I expected more than xenophobic anger from the annual “Reunification Day” celebration in Dresden.
The hot, dark basement, the internet had somehow called a “charming B & B,” was the first disappointment. But now this. The furious screams of the demonstrators—“Foreigners out of Germany”—ignited my feelings of dread.
I barely saw it then. A flash of silver, a knife? A screwdriver? thrust into the spectator in front of me.
As the marchers approached, Julia turned to me, “’Ich habe dir doch gesagt.’ I told you so.”
Okay, so I knew not to expect an American-style parade, but still I expected more than xenophobic anger from the annual “Reunification Day” celebration in Dresden.
The hot, dark basement, the internet had somehow called a “charming B & B,” was the first disappointment. But now this. The furious screams of the demonstrators—“Foreigners out of Germany”—ignited my feelings of dread.
I barely saw it then. A flash of silver, a knife? A screwdriver? thrust into the spectator in front of me.
Lawrence McGuire –Waldorf, MD - Independent
From below a scream pierced the floor.
Taylor jumped at the cry, a cry no eighty-year-old should hear in her house. Trembling in the living room, she raised the volume on the Rose Parade to mask the girl's screams.
Taylor's son Dale loved their dark basement, his "slayground." How many runaways had he--guilt seized her hammering heart.
Those poor girls!
She shuffled to the kitchen and took out from its hiding place in the junk drawer a sharpened screwdriver. Fifty years past, she had given Dale his vile life. Today, she would take it.
Taylor descended the basement steps.
From below a scream pierced the floor.
Taylor jumped at the cry, a cry no eighty-year-old should hear in her house. Trembling in the living room, she raised the volume on the Rose Parade to mask the girl's screams.
Taylor's son Dale loved their dark basement, his "slayground." How many runaways had he--guilt seized her hammering heart.
Those poor girls!
She shuffled to the kitchen and took out from its hiding place in the junk drawer a sharpened screwdriver. Fifty years past, she had given Dale his vile life. Today, she would take it.
Taylor descended the basement steps.
T.C. Lancaster - Enterprise - Saint Inigoes, MD
The 22kW generator that Taylor and I installed had already blessed us during a couple outages - not uncommon in these islands. Today had been particularly good with the Carnival parade passing by our place; but now late into the moonless night the local electricity went out again. The generator powered up as usual, but nothing lit up this time. And simultaneously a scream came up from the basement. As we made our way with light from his Bic, I fell down the stairs! The last thing I remember before blacking out was that darned screwdriver rolling down towards me.
The 22kW generator that Taylor and I installed had already blessed us during a couple outages - not uncommon in these islands. Today had been particularly good with the Carnival parade passing by our place; but now late into the moonless night the local electricity went out again. The generator powered up as usual, but nothing lit up this time. And simultaneously a scream came up from the basement. As we made our way with light from his Bic, I fell down the stairs! The last thing I remember before blacking out was that darned screwdriver rolling down towards me.
By Jon Ketzner - Cumberland, MD
Tinker Taylor...his old man had been a le Carre nut...sipped his screwdriver and watched a parade of maggots march purposefully from his dead brother's ruined eye socket.
Ten minutes ago, Taylor dragged himself up from the dark basement and found his worthless brother's corpse on the kitchen floor. Rod's gamey body had been there for two days easy, probably as long as Taylor had been unconscious.
Taylor, disgraced ex-cop, failed gumshoe and sot, remembered hearing a scream in his drunken stupor. Had he screamed? Had Rod? Had Taylor cleaved his brother's skull? What a mess
Tinker Taylor...his old man had been a le Carre nut...sipped his screwdriver and watched a parade of maggots march purposefully from his dead brother's ruined eye socket.
Ten minutes ago, Taylor dragged himself up from the dark basement and found his worthless brother's corpse on the kitchen floor. Rod's gamey body had been there for two days easy, probably as long as Taylor had been unconscious.
Taylor, disgraced ex-cop, failed gumshoe and sot, remembered hearing a scream in his drunken stupor. Had he screamed? Had Rod? Had Taylor cleaved his brother's skull? What a mess