How many of you have seen the commercial that starts with the “Real People, Not Actors” disclaimer? What they’re really saying is the advertiser was too cheap to hire a professional spokesperson. Instead they rounded up a few stragglers from a Walmart parking lot and gave them each a hundred dollar bill to “Oouu” and “Ahh” over their product.
What would happen if our Fairy Blog Mother did the same here? Imagine if you will, Friday Flash Fiction stories penned by scab writers instead of highly talented authors. No Sandra, no C.E., dare I say, no Dawn? Even The Reclining Gentleman would get up and walk away.
If this is your first visit to Friday Flash Fiction, the professional spokesperson who will promise you a 15% savings on your next 100 words is Jamie Lee Wisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. To rent a box in the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block, click here.
copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Go, Jan, go!
See Jan go.
“Spot, spot, wait for me,” cried Dale.
Plenty of action, but too many repetitive words. Also, no sense of place. Where are we—the beach, on a treadmill? Furthermore, the copy is fraught with typos. The correct spelling is S-T-O-P.
See Fido run.
Fido bit Fluffy.
“Bad Fido, bad,” said Jan.
Add some internalization. How did Fluffy feel? Invoke the senses. Has Fido rolled in something dead? What does Fluffy’s fur taste like?
In this example, I’ve pointed out some of the most obvious flaws.
What suggestions could you offer to improve this story?
Poetry, Horror, Psychological Thrillers
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.
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