To celebrate (or curse) Valentine’s Day, take a stab at this month’s story starter:
Morgan stumbled belatedly into the engagement party rain-soaked and ruined. A car that wouldn’t start was a blip on the radar compared to the eviction notice that shuffled its way under the door. Having finally found her way to the party in a downpour, she discovered the happy couple had arranged, insult to injury, a cash bar. Forlornly wringing out the sludge from her skirt hem, Morgan halfheartedly listened to the groom-to-be rattle away into a finicky microphone as she scanned the prices for a glass of wine.
“Turns out, our friends have been making up their own epic versions of how they think an electrician and a SCUBA instructor met, and Jules and I have decided that we want to hear ’em. But let’s make it interesting. Twenty bucks to enter, and you’ll get the chance to tell the whole crowd. The story we like best wins the cash.”
Morgan looked back down at the drinks menu and remembered the wadded bills in her purse; it was either an overpriced glass of Shiraz or a dim chance with whatever story she could weave. The number and sobriety of the giggling attendees already making for their wallets had her reaching for her own.
“And one last thing! There’s a vital clue on the table by the bar. Good luck!”
Morgan looked down at the table next to her to find the rusting metal head and broken shaft of a gardening spade.