The writers that I know and love all do the same thing: they write more than they talk.
And to them, 200 words is nothing.
Bam, here you go. Next?
So use your clickity mouse and get your penmonkey behind to this flash-fiction contest, over at the Soul and Sweet Tea blog.
DO IT NOW. Then come back here and I’ll tell you a secret.
Joey the Francisco of Soul and Sweet Tea, a great blog for writers and book lovers. Go visit it.
Why do this?
I’ll tell you why.
- First, you need a break — something to write with no pressure, no worries. Whether you’re a screenwriter or speechwriter, a newspaper reporter or a novelist, IT IS REQUIRED that you stretch a different writing muscle sometimes. You can’t keep doing the same thing forever. The contest includes a bunch of photos as writing prompts. People of the interwebs, this is easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
- Second, the person behind this blog, Joey the Francisco, is not only a crazy smart writer (a scientist type, and president of some nuclear medicine shebang). No. She’s also kind, witty and a writer of thrillers. Trifecta, people. Ta-righ-fek-TAH.
- Third, I am a secret GUEST JUDGE for this contest.
Don’t tell anybody. That would ruin the secret.
Pretend you don’t know or ask Will Smith to wipe out your memory of this post, along with your memories of WILD WEST, BAD BOYS 2 and I AM LEGEND, which put the B in Boring despite featuring mondo zombies. I did not think this was possible.
How can a movie with zombies be Snooze City? Then again, LAYER CAKE is (1) a mob movie, with (2) all kinds of action and violence that (3) starred Daniel 007 Craig, and it was perhaps the most boring movie on the planet until HUGO came out. My God.
Back to the flash fiction shebang: Have I been a judge of literary contests before? Sure. This is not my first rodeo. Have I competed in rodeos before? No. Cage matches to the death against mountain lions and bear? Also no. They are my neighbors, and as long as they leave me alone — and I consider pooping on my land at 3 a.m., when I’m asleep, as leaving me be — then I’ll leave them alone.
HOWEVER: those were Serious Contests about Serious Things, and what I wrote for comments was seriously tame.
This is pure fun. So go, do it, be wild. Write whatever you want for 200 words. THIS IS AMERICA, unless you are in Canada, the UK, Australia or whatever. Either way, I am pretty damn sure writing flash fiction won’t get you a visit from the secret police, unless you’re in Syria, North Korea and about six other places I can’t remember right off.
While we are at it, and because it’s Friendly Friday, this blog we’re talking about — Soul and Sweet Tea — is good stuff. Go show Joey the Francisco some writerly love by subscribing to the blog and following her tweets . She is not annoying and would never pimp books 25 hours a day, eight days a week, because she has wonderful manners, even on the Series of Tubes.
Note: Some folks have reported TECHNICAL PROBLEMS with posting their brilliant 200 words on Joey’s blog. Do not erase your flash fiction or fall into a steaming vat of despair. Post those 200 words as a comment here and I’ll send minions to get those words to Atlanta in time for the contest deadline (Sunday).
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We’ve got both entries and they’re in. Best wishes.
My entry, from Dr Anne.
Flash Fiction.
Moon-Dust
200 words
Imogen leaned over the railing, straining to look across to the swamp, where the ghostly limbs of trees cast green gloom. She watched the swamp for hours every day.
Waiting.
This was the last place she’d seen the unicorn. The creature had turned, inclined her head, snorted and flown through the trees, moonlight dusting her glorious coat and flashing from her horn and diamond hooves.
Imogen had never seen such a beautiful being. She knew they did not always appear to humans, and watched the creature from her balcony, until the day she’d managed to tie a purple ribbon around the unicorn’s neck while it rested. The unicorn had spoken, in tones so low Imogen had to lean close to hear, “You cannot keep a unicorn, but because you have not harmed me, if you untether me I will return some day and take you with me. And you will have good fortune.”
Imogen stroked the unicorn’s silken fur, and found herself dusted with silver and gold, and clothed in silk.
The unicorn stamped, and flew off.
Imogen’s life had indeed been good. And now, as it moved toward its end, she waited for the unicorn to return.
(c) 2012 Anne Howard
(based on photos 3 and 4)
Hello Olivia! We have indeed received, via the notorious tubes, thine entry! Best wishes and of course…good luck.
J.
Well, I am obviously technologically challenged, so here it is: (Based on Pic #4)
I peered over the edge of the railing, down at the body of the man sprawled on the stone patio. Well, not a man exactly, since he was half-Fae. It was puzzling that he seemed to be dead. Fae were immortal, and I’d just assumed that it would take a lot to kill a Halfling.
This was…inconvenient.
It’s hard to extract information from a dead man. Not impossible, mind you, but hard. I stared out over the darkened swamp, thinking.
Spanish moss dripped from the gnarled trees as they twisted and hung over the still, murky waters of the Delta river. Something splashed in the night, but it didn’t silence the deep croaking of the bullfrogs or incessant buzz of the cicadas. No noise came from behind me, since the Halfling had been living here alone. The lone sleeping bag and meager scattering of possessions was a good indicator that my assumption was correct, and I couldn’t detect the scent of more than one occupant.
This guy’s odor had been easy to track. It was pretty clear there weren’t bathing facilities nearby.
I sighed. There was nothing for it. I was going to have to contact the Priestess.
Thank you for posting this for me! I love flash fiction- let’s me stretch the brain muscles.
Have a great weekend…
Thanks for the link! I write them every Friday, so I would love to enter one. Have a great weekend Red Pen!