Short and Flashy may be the new in thing with writing and I’m so glad to hear it because I love writing short stories and flash fiction. I found that out about myself when I was writing my first book, The Tower. When I needed to have a brain change because I couldn’t find the words I needed to say for the book, I would write a piece of flash fiction or a short story so I could think about something else besides the book I was writing. It helped reset my brain. It made it easier for me to come up with what I needed for my book.
Over the fast few years, people have read more of my short stories and flash fiction. I am assuming it is due to lack of perceived time to read.
Do you know what flash fiction is? In case you don’t, I will try to explain. Flash Fiction is a complete story (has all the components of a story) in a limited number of words. They can be challenging to complete.
Think about how our reading world has changed since the computer came along. The time was we had no choice but to go to the book store or the library to get our reading material. Now we have small portable screens that let us have a book zipped to us over the airwaves. We can get anything we want to read from Amazon including short stories which we might read while we’re sitting under the hairdryer or waiting in a doctor’s office.
According to Anne R. Allen, one of the authors of How to be a Writer in the E-age: A self-Help Guide, short stories make money and hold their value. Kindle Singles often sell for the same as a novel-length book. Ellery Queen and Woman’s World still pay top dollar for genre stories.
Short stories are great for practice. Learning to write short stores can keep your writing from getting sloppy. Having short stories in your portfolio might give you another book to publish or an opportunity to publish in a magazine.
I put the majority of my short stories in an eBook called Shirley’s Shorts and Flashes. The book was published on Amazon. Publishing my work of short stories was something I didn’t want to pass up. You may also have an opportunity to see what you can do.
Below you will find one of my short stories called Angie’s Secret. Please comment with a critique and let me know the good and the bad.
Amazon link to Shirley’s Shorts and Flashes: http://amzn.to/15HB87j
“Are you going to tell him?” Mattie asked.
“Heavens no, this is my secret. I told you because you’re my best friend, and I know I can trust you.” Angie sat at the table with her cup of tea. She was pale around the eyes and mouth. “I am doing this on my own. I’m thirty-four years old, and I know this is the right thing for me.”
“It may be right for you, but girl you look like crap. Do you want another cup of tea?”
Mattie went to the stove and brought the teapot back to the table. She asked Angie if she’s eating enough.
Mockingly Angie replied, “Yes, mother, I am. I can take care of myself. Stop worrying about me.”
“How do you think you’re going to pull this off when he barely lets you out of his sight?”
Angie thought of the days ahead as she sipped her tea. Her excitement showed.
Mattie looked at her, seeing the smile, said, “Ok, girlfriend, spill the beans. I want to know what’s making you smile.”
“I have to go home.”
“Angie, remember, no matter what, I’m your friend.” Mattie grabbed Angie, hugged her tightly.
“I’ll be in touch, and don’t worry,” Angie said as they broke apart. She walked back to her house. Her bedroom light was on. Crap, he must know I’m not in my room. I’ll walk through the front door as the grown woman I am.
After she entered the house, she almost made it to the stairs before she heard her father’s harsh voice.
“Angie, is that you?”
“Yes, father, it’s me.”
“Come here immediately,” her father, bellowed.
Angie walked into the library, ready for battle. Her father kicked back in the recliner, with a drink in his hand, asked, “Where have you been?”
“I went to Arlene’s for tea. I left your dinner on the table.”
“It was cold. You are one lousy cook.”
“Yes, father. I’m going upstairs to my room, goodnight, father.”
The clock advanced slowly, but 2 a.m. arrived. She pulled her suitcase from beneath her bed, took one last look at her room and left. Her father appeared to be asleep when she opened the front door. As she stepped out into the night air, she took her first deep breath of freedom.
She whispered, “John, are you here?”
“No, he’s not here,” her father said laughingly.