Let me ask you a personal question. How much does your mood impact your writing? If you’re feeling happy, do you tend to write light-hearted stuff? When you’re sad or depressed do your prose reflect a morbid or dark attitude?
Normally, I’m a pretty easy going guy, but yesterday a guy named Worth pissed in my Wheaties. It took all my self-control to keep from responding to his email with something that would return to bite me in the butt. To alleviate the pressure rising in my boiler, I drafted a wonderfully sarcastic reply in which I assigned Worth the fitting middle name of Less. The unsent email will remain in my draft folder until I’ve reached the point where reading it no longer brings me joy and satisfaction. Then I will permanently delete it.
In the meantime, look for an antagonist named Worth in one of my future stories.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the moral compass who keeps our Raft of Writers on the high road is Northstar Nancy Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“You know, sometimes I feel sorry for those aliens in their UFOs”
“Why’s that, Clem?” Harold rolled a stem of wheat straw from one side of his mouth to the other and leaned against his pick-up.
“With 90% of Americans carrying cell phones, those poor bastards can’t even make a crop circle without someone trying to take their picture.”
“It must be like a bad case of hemorrhoids.”
“That’s why I built that giant suppository—to ease their pain.”
“Mighty thoughtful of you, Clem. Gonna build one for the Sasquatch too?”
“It’s on my list, Harold. It’s on my list.”
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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.
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