It’s good to be back for Friday Flash Fiction—the place where even guys like me and Cooter (not exactly giants in the literary world) can post 100 word stories without being completely and totally ignored.
I’ve spent most of the last week in a back-n-forth editing session with Pen-L Publishing. This means I actually I had to read my own book. Fortunately, I have a short-term memory so most of the stories were new to me. I kept shaking my head while reading, thinking “Boy, the guy who wrote this must be insane.” I should have known, my cousin, Jerry, warned me that the author was, in his words, “certifiable.”
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the woodland nymph in charge of selecting our weekly photo prompt is C’est la vie Wisoff-Fields. 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.
Katherine was an enigma. Quiet and reserved, she preferred to glide among the shadows rather than follow the woodland path that led her ancestors to glory. The last thing she wanted was celebrity status, yet the paparazzi stalked her relentlessly. Even here in the forest it was hard to escape the glaring view of the telescopic lens.
Sometimes she wished she could change her surname. But what good would that do? The expectation of greatness hung like an albatross around her neck.
Damn great-grandpa Robin, and damn aunt Little Red Riding. Why did I have to be born a Hood?
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Poetry, Flash Fiction
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.
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
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