Hello Dear Reader
Flash Fiction 1
Over the few weeks, I have challenged myself to write something called flash fiction. This is sort of shorter version of a short story. Although, some would argue that many pieces are short stories. The current definition of flash fiction is from 50 words to 300 and possibly up to 1000 words.
I took up the challenge and produced three pieces. It took me a time to sort them out and one may not be as good as I wished. One has been entered into a competition, it has the same chance as anyone else’s. I can’t show that one for obvious reasons.
So how do you write flash fiction? Here are some points;
How to write flash fiction:
Start in the middle.
Don’t use too many characters.
Make sure the ending isn’t at the end.
Sweat your title.
Make your last line ring like a bell.
Write long, then go short.
David Gaffney, Stories in your pocket: how to write flash fiction, The Guardian
So you see, it’s unlike other forms of writing. Then again, there so many forms of writing, just like music, photography or art. So I offer my first two flash fiction pieces. Follow the link and enjoy.
Tagline; “When one word can mean 1000’s”
Hello Dear Reader
Day 7 of this challenge and a prose poem is todays theme with the keyword of fingers.This one is more my style, I enjoy prose as it allows you to express yourself a little more deeply. This one I do like, it gives freedom of expression without restrictions many other styles impose. I have enjoyed writing todays poem and hope it stands out.
Day 7 – Fingers
Drawn across the soft white curve,tracing the pleasure he feels before him. A joy to behold, feeling freedom, no-one else but the two locked in the moment. A pause, a frown, something not right, the strangest feeling of déjà vu confronts his senses. Is this the delight he remembers? That desire which brought him back here? His eyes scan the white surface, oddly littered with black speckles. Each one a clue to what lies ahead. Slowly, methodically he studies every sinew. Exploring each delicate depth of passion Pushing along the chosen path. His finger moves again, taking all displayed. Silence shared between the pair. The soft rustle of a movement well-known, his finger starts again to discover. Each sensuous touch making him drunk on power, he holds the key. A soft voice echoes in the room making him stop. ‘Are you coming down for dinner?’ She begs the question. His finger pauses on one word, ‘illusions’. Blackness of words bound on white paper. A smile on his face, the bookmark back in place. He puts the book down, waiting for another day.
By Mark O’Donnell