fiction, flashy

Who knows why yesterday was the day I finally took the bait, finally tried my hand at the flash fiction thing?  It probably had to do with the fact that I was at my desk at work when Frances's prompts went by my eyes.  Someone was standing on other side of my monitor talking to me, and I started to drift, pulled by the prompts, enticed by lipstick and frosting and bone.  Half-listening I nodded and opened Microsoft Word, guessing that I probably had enough time, about fifteen minutes between the end of the stern talking-to I was required to deliver to someone I supervised and my own departure for an off-site meeting, to do something, just get started, with these words.

I don't claim that what I wrote is great.  Oh, far from it.  I don't even claim that it's any good.  I merely claim that it was super-fun, a great and liberating exercise.

Of course it's possible that I enjoyed it particularly because I savored the particular set of words and also the somewhat sorta-kinda illicit nature of even writing when I did, stealing 15 minutes from my employer as I did, trading them for minutes I'd spent in the middle of the night obsessing about some spreadsheet or other, unpaid-time working out some fiscal or systems problem in my head.  Still it had that zing of drinking milk straight from the carton, half-hidden by the open door, before anyone else could see. Quick! Do it!

With big gratitude to Frances and to Meg Pokrass, mother of this whole flash fiction thing.

Fun!  

I'm looking forward to the next words, the next prompts, to see what unspools.  And maybe next time, I won't even do it furtively, but in the open, no rush.

Comments

[Frankie]

this is so exciting to read!