Last Friday night I had the great pleasure of being in the company of seven (count ‘em – 7) fellow Fictioneers. To my knowledge, eight is largest congregation of Fictioneers ever assembled in the same venue at one time. I kept looking out the window, expecting national media coverage, or at least to see the folks from Publisher’s Clearing House pull up in front of Ye Olde English Inn and offer a 3-book deal to each of us along with a $500K advance.
Then one of the “real authors” at the banquet busted my bubble by telling me that Publisher’s Clearing House wasn’t a book publishing house at all, just an outfit that entices people to buying magazines in hopes of winning a million dollar sweepstakes. Boy, if that ain’t like having a bucket of frozen fish guts dumped down your underwear.
All in all it was a very good party. Connie only had to call me down twice, so I guess my loud and obnoxious behavior didn’t embarrass her any more than usual. ~ That gal is an angel.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, our Big Chief teller of tall tales is Paula “Don’t step on my Bunions” Wisoff-Fields (along with her sidekick, Kent, the Blond Ox). If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
They told me it would never last.
My friends, family, even my employer—they all tried to dissuade me.
“She’s got issues,” they said. “Been through too many break-ups.”
But I wouldn’t listen. We were young and in love. Nothing else mattered.
I had a good job at Macy’s and she worked in the automotive industry.
She told me her job was stressful, dangerous, and her employer often abusive. When I heard about the accident, I fell apart—literally.
I can still see that cute little circle on her forehead.
They were right. Never fall in love with a crash test dummy
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Flash Fiction, and Poetry
Stories From Within
Finding ways to make words sparkle
This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
Confessions of a Delusional Maniac
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
All the Blogging That's Fit To Print
AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
I don't write, I touch without touching.
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Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
Straight up with a twist– Because life is too short to be subtle!
An author's perspective of mystery and more.
And the worst things. And all that weird stuff in between.