A post from Matt’s Must Be This Tall To Ride blog and an article I read about writing flash fiction led to my first attempt at flash fiction. And Matt, if you’re reading this, in time I hope this blog finds the mojo yours has, which I’ll gladly send your way. Thanks for being such a great inspiration! OK here goes:
Feelings Are Bullshit
The envelop on his desk was unexpected. Absent-mindedly he opened it, sending a chill down his spine.
A month since they argued. What was it about? He couldn’t recall. She said something in that tone. He slammed. She threw. He yelled. Threw something else.
“Bullshit,” he stammered. She stormed out. Where? He didn’t ask.
A few days passed. They made up. She decked out in a killer pair of heels and form-fitting dress. There was a dinner out, then make up sex. All was healed.
And now, this bill. His face flushed. He knew how she’d felt.
Don’t be taken aback by what you see here. This is just me in the beginning, before you’ve discovered me. Back when I was a bit unsure of myself. Back when my novel was a dream idea I had, a life-long goal I decided to act on. Back when my chapters were scattered among a group of friends whom I knew I could count on for honest feedback to get it going, to keep me going. Back when I didn’t have a platform, or an audience, or even a Facebook page, let alone Twitter. Back when the most visual thing I had was a book cover concept. Well actually two. One I did, that I made the horrific mistake of falling in love with. And the other done by a professional graphic artist whom I bartered with for editing a novel he’d written. By now, though, we both know that I’ve forgone favors from friends and moved into the realm of “whatever a publisher wants in return for a big fat advance.” Still, there was a certain homespun appeal to the old days and just starting out on a dream project.