When you're impulsive, life is predictably unpredictable. I should know. Impulsive is my default setting.
When I see apples on sale (buy 5 lbs, get 5 lbs free!) I think "Gosh, I could make tarts and pie and a little crisp with ice cream on top" and I buy ten pounds of apples. They're still sitting on the kitchen table, unloved, but you don't understand. I got them on sale.
Now, I would dearly love that pie. But then I'd have to make it.
Maybe you're thinking "GAWD she is the laziest person EVER" and you are absolutely right. I am that lazy.
But I will make that pie! I promise. I will definitely, absolutely make pie out of those apples. Just not right now.
Anyway, the whole point I was trying to make is that sometimes I don't know what I'm doing. Or all the time. Most of the time.
This week, instead of writing out a plot for my NaNo project, I decided to make burgundy mushrooms, 5 quarts of pickles, artichoke dip, pumpkin muffins and a big pot of minestrone. Then I thought "Hey! wouldn't writing be a really great way of warming up for NaNo?" and decided I would write the first thing that came to mind and make it into a complete, miniature story.
Then I realized what I wrote made very little sense without writing thousands of words to explain everything, and who wants to waste time explaining? Maybe Bill Nye the Science Guy does, but he's good at it and I have stuff to do.
Like make pie.
Anyway, halfway through this piece of fiction I stopped writing because it no longer made any sense, I went to Wikipedia and looked up flash fiction. What fascinated me about the whole concept of flash fiction? I already write it all the time.
Really. The majority of my writing is done up in neat little packages, stories that can usually stand alone and get the point across without needing a ton of backstory. At least, I like to think so. (I'm
often usually wrong.)
My next thought: "I wonder what short stories my friends would write?"
Would they write a microfic about their RP characters? Would they write a postcard from a character we've never met (and will never meet) and fill that tiny space with enough meaning to fill a book? What if they turned out a modern fable, or decided on a self-imposed 100-word limit in which to convey a complete thought?
I don't know what you guys would do, but I want to find out.
Join me in a Flash Fiction Party!
Consider this your invitation. From now until October 30th, I'll be accepting 10- to 1000-word story submissions and posting them here on my blog (if you don't want them posted, that's fine too. Just let me know when you share the story). It can be about anything you like, and as long or as short as you like, so long as it's between 10 and 1000 words.
Send your submissions to failbears (at) gmail (dot) com. (Long story, you don't really want to know.) Please include any posting preferences or links you would like me to include. I will do my best to present everything fairly, though you should know that my mother reads this blog, so anything I wouldn't want her to see won't quite make the cut. (Sorry, no porno. SORRY!) She's pretty cool though, so it'd have to be kinda extreme.
Now I'm going to go burn the cookies and make my husband kill a spider while I scream like a little girl and drink a liter of cola in my pajamas because it's almost bedtime but I've been wearing these all day and where did the time go?
But then later I'll read the awesome stories you all send me and be super happy. Good luck; I can hardly wait to see what's cooking in your wicked little brains!