Flash Fiction

Writing Exercises

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blue orange black green white adidas soccer ball on green field

Last week, I mentioned I’ve been dabbling in flash fiction as part of my regular writing exercises. This week, I’m on a roll creating short pieces using prompts. This piece is the quick result of using the following five words/phrases: soccer ball, sidewalk, car, blanket, hot coffee.

At this moment, I’d rather do anything than chase a soccer ball around a field, kicking at opponents and crashing into teammates.

Sidewalks are much more conducive to civilized ambulation than grassy fields are. Who in his right mind wants to dash around beneath the scorching sun–on display like an energetic version of a roasted chicken on a spit at the grocery store? Yes, instead of turning in at the gates, I believe I’ll stroll past the field today and engage in a more cultured form of exercise.

Hmm. Now that I’ve decided to play hooky, I think I’ll bundle myself up in the back seat of a car–complete with a flannel blanket and a cup of hot coffee–and allow myself to be chauffeured to the beach instead.

–Pele, on a bad day

What writing exercises do you use?

Flash Fiction and Short Stories

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a drink in a glass with green leaf

My hiatus from blogging is now at an end, thank goodness, and I’m dabbling in different types of writing–including flash fiction.

Since November, when my life got a little crazy for a while, I completed a novel and sent it off to a number of agents and publishers. It’s receiving good reviews but not good enough to convince a publisher to buy. Yet.

I’ve begun a new novel, have returned to writing short stories, and am having a lot of fun creating flash fiction. I’ll be submitting some of the shorter pieces to publishers and sharing others here on my blog.

Here’s the first installment of flash fiction. I used a prompt for this piece, which included writing for a total of 10 minutes: 2 minutes each for:

  • A mint
  • A flower
  • A pair of shoes
  • A calendar
  • A phone

Tea Party

The tea tasted awful–like the spearmint leaf floating on top had been soaked in motor oil before being brewed–acrid and brown rather than perky and green.

Perhaps Lorna had allowed the plant to flower, sucking from the herb most of its tingly flavor and imbuing it, instead, with a tang reminiscent of a pair of shoes worn without socks in the middle of summer.

I pulled up the calendar app in my phone and entered a note: Do NOT revisit Lorna’s house for refreshments.