It's raining! The skies have opened up and the ten-year rain begins. We are all waiting to see how our houseboats float. We're a little bit nervous. This is the first time that we'll get to check them, and once the flood starts to lift the houses, we won't have much of a second chance. We've checked and tested, as best we can on a desert planet where water is strictly rationed and we have been warned that trying to haul our houses to a communal pool to test them would likely cause damage itself. Our house boats were never designed to be hauled. Anyway, the thirsty earth would drink away the water in the pool in very little time and the sun would boil it away, and whatever extra humidity it added to the town would cause an environmental disruption as nature reacted as though the floods had started early. None of us want that. It would violate the very strict terms of our charter, not to mention the principles that we have

Inspiration: Kids playing at the Riverview Cafe, chanting, "It's raining, it's raining!"
Story potential: Medium
Notes: I like the idea of the desert-to-flood. Would change the voice to sound less ... middle-class American, though, but maybe that's only in my head.

The forecast claimed that there would be good cloud-fishing tomorrow, so the seamen went out and replaced all their sails with giant nets, checked to make sure the engines and the rowers were ready to go, and told their wives to pack only very solid food for them to take--cold cuts or sandwiches wold do, but soup might cause some problems. They then went to the special Mass that was always held before a cloud-fishing expedition, because nobody really understood when bad weather might occur in the clouds, and if there was one thing worse than losing a man to the sea, it was losing him to the clouds. Seeing somebody blown overboard, watching their body fly up into the dark clouds while they still waved their hands and screamed--it was every sailor's worst nightmare.


Inspiration: http://www.flickr.com/photos/inktea/10409294606/
Story potential: Medium
Notes: Pleasantly whimsical.

"Thunderstorm coming."

"Yup."

"Think she'll find it this year?"

He shrugged. "No saying. Her ma got dropped off in that very cornfield thirty years ago, and that's the story she told the girl from the time she was old enough to walk. Just makes sense the child thinks that's where her mama went now, even though we saw her dead and buried in a coffin in the ground. Besides, she always told me that she was from Peoria, before the storm picked her up and deposited her on my land like a present." The farmer looked a bit sad, staring at his worn and roughened hands. "Best present a man could ever get in his life, tell you that much. My girl, she was a present to both of us. I reckon any parent'd tell you the same thing, long as they weren’t of totally no account themselves. My girl, she's also a handful and a half, trouble in her eyes and danger in the way she looks at the local boys. I tell you, it's a miracle I haven't had to get out my shotgun to run them off yet or to get her out of some pickle."

His friend laughed. "Buddy, you haven't had trouble with the local boys because they know you've got that shotgun. Who hasn't seen you shooting at crows in your fields? You get 'em, too. You may have come back from the army and settled down to be a farmer, but a little bit of that's still in you."

He shrugged again. "M'wife hated crows. not sure why. When I found her in that bathtub, she was surrounded by a ring of 'em staring at her like she was their next meal. I reckon that’s enough to--"


Inspiration: http://www.flickr.com/photos/closetartist/8355786204/
Story potential: High.
Notes: Could make an interesting rural fantasy.

The storm postcards started arriving in her mailbox in winter. It was a little amusing then; somebody was sending her mail! How pleasant! But then storm season got closer and it became less entertaining. Was somebody trying to threaten her? Did that make any sense? How could somebody threaten her with storms, that were surely beyond the ability of any person to control. Or was it a warning, saying that she should leave her comfortable Louisiana home and go inland, far from the ability of any storm to reach her. She didn't think that it might have been the equivalent of a personals ad--how should she? She'd signed up for a site or two, yes, that's what one did when one reached a certain age and was still alone, and more than that, wanted not to be. She didn't know what--

Inspiration: A combination of "Another Post Card With Chimpanzees" and the news about tropical storm Gustaf.
Story Potential: High.
Notes: I thought this was going to be boring and then it became a personals ad response and *that* was interesting.

The snow globe stayed dull and unreflective even as snow tumbled around her. Nayla stared in horror at it. All these years, the snow globe had been in her care, under her guidance. It was her role to see that the fall of snow was right for the year and the needs of the farmers. It was her care. And now, though she stood on the tallest mountain, in her full regalia, surrounded by clouds bearing a heavy load of snow that trickled slowly out, the globe sat lifeless in her hand. She felt a tear sting the corner of her eye. She would have to report her shame and make pilgrimage to the center. Perhaps the globe could be repaired. Perhaps it was not her fault. Perhaps it was not even truly broken. Even as she--

Inspiration: The very sword & sorcery cover of this month's SFBC.com newsletter.
Story Potential: Low.
Notes: So silly.