Today I wrote three pieces of flash fiction. They’re only 300 words each, all up only 900 words, so why is this an achievement?

Because I hate flash fiction. I cannot tell a story in under 75,000 words with plans for seventeen sequels. I’m not wired that way. I struggled immensely with writing short stories at uni. I struggled so badly that for my last assignment I was so stuck for an idea, that I got drunk in the shower (yes, you read that correctly), and cranked out a lengthy poem about how much I hated my sister in law and you know how much I loathe poetry  (almost as much as I loathe her, ha!) and got a bloody HD for it. Maybe I should just be drunk all the time?

I decided that I was going to try and write something for every opportunity that comes up.  I’m pretty chuffed at myself, if I do say so myself.

They are kind of sad though. The last one I think is the best, but it is by far the most depressing. I started off thinking I was going to adapt a relatively maudlin 1500 word tale I wrote for a uni assignment a few years ago. The male child protagonist turned into an adult female and the theme of grieving a death turned into one of coping with depression and revenge, so it absolutely did not end up where I thought it would at all.

I do like it when that happens. I think some of the best stuff I’ve written was when I totally pantsed it.

Let’s see if I can get any of them published!