STILL NOT NICE OR THE STRANGE PLANET INSIDE MY HEAD Has Landed!

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WHEEEEEEEE!

*Phew* Well, as anyone who has done this knows, publishing a book is a shit-ton of work. But finally, STILL NOT NICE OR THE STRANGE PLANET INSIDE MY HEAD is now available!

I feel like I just gave birth to a buffalo. Heh.

Check out the nifty trailer! And go grab yourself a copy!

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Working Hard-Still Not Nice Publishing News

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Whew!

Seriously, things have been a blur for months now. Busy is good they say–idle hands are the Devil’s workshop. But sometimes busy hands are that way too. MUAHAHAHA!

Which brings me to STILL NOT NICE or THE STRANGE PLANET INSIDE MY HEAD.

Yes, this is a new volume of short and flash fiction. Yippee! STILL NOT NICE is an unusual volume–there’s fiction, ruminations, and observations. There are a couple of stories about Sally Mae Riddley, my Fire Child, that have never been seen before. A couple of pieces from contest writing, and…well, a mixed bag, really. I’m very pleased with how it has come together.

Want to see the cover? Sure you do!

SNN Image

All thanks to the awesome Melinda VanLone for the amazing cover. I just love it.

The final details are being tweaked even as we speak! SOON! Sign up for my newsletter if you haven’t already to be alerted as soon as it’s live.

It is really a strange planet inside my head. Come on in and take a look. I won’t bite…at least, I won’t bite hard. Heh.

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Writing and Wrangling

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Words, words, and more words. Life is good!

The second edition of Not Nice and Other Understatements is on track to release October 15th. Wheeeee! She’s all polished up, and I’m beyond happy about this. People who purchased the Kindle edition in the past will receive the update at no charge, with a new print edition available for those who are interested. I’m hoping to offer signed copies through this website. She’s so PURTY now!

Hopefully Still Not Nice, or The Strange Planet Inside My Head will be close behind.

It’s a juggling act, between editing and writing. I have a lot of balls in the air.

Sometimes it's more like juggling FIRE. No lie.
Sometimes it’s more like juggling FIRE. No lie.

Flash Fiction Challenge

A couple of months back, a Very Good Friend pushed encouraged me to enter the Flash Fiction Challenge 2014. At first I was like, nah, I’m so out of practice and where am I going to find the time? But hey, it’s flash, my first love, and what would I have to lose? It’ll be fun.

Basically, there’s a field of over a thousand writers, broken up into 25 groups. Each group is assigned a genre, a location, and an object. The goal is to write a 1,000 word story to incorporate those three things in 48 hours. In the first two rounds, a score is given to the top fifteen stories in blind judging, meaning the name of the author does not appear anywhere on the work. After two rounds, the top five in each of the twenty-five groups moves on to the third round, which narrows the field to 125 writers.

The groups are then reassigned, given new genres etc., and the top five in each group moves to the fourth round where a winner is chosen.

I completed the first round and won my group with fifteen points. The genre was ghost story, the location was a museum, and the object was tracing paper. The story, Mosaic, came out creepier than hell and I scared myself. Heh.

And now the pressure is on.

The weekend of October 3rd, my group was assigned crime caper, a hunting lodge, and a notebook. After much angst and hair-pulling, it was Sally Mae Riddley and Becky Jo McFee to the rescue in The Antler Caper-A Sally Mae Riddley Adventure. It was so much fun hooking up with the girls again–they crack me up.

Results for that round will be given November 5th. I’ll find out then if I get to move on to the third round.

I’m just trying to have fun with it and I will tell you I have missed writing flash fiction something fierce. I still maintain it is the BEST training ground for writers. You have strict parameters, but the universe is at your fingertips. You have to chose each and every word carefully; you have to know your story structure inside and out. There is just no wriggle room at all. Beginning, middle, end. Problem, climax, resolution. There’s a cadence, a flow. In my opinion, it is the most challenging form of fiction you can write.

Whether I move on or not, I have two stories of which I’m very proud and a reminder of how much I love flash.

I’ll keep you updated how things work out. Wish me luck!

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NOT NICE Gets An Update

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I’ve had plans to publish another collection of flash fiction for quite some time, but waited until I had enough time to devote to the project, you know? So I’m happy to announce STILL NOT NICE or THE STRANGE PLANET INSIDE MY HEAD will launch on or about November 1, 2014. It’s an important anniversary to me, and I’ll share the details of why when we get closer.

Come on, now! Patience is a virtue!

In the meantime, I wanted to spruce up Not Nice and Other Understatements so she can hang with the new chick on the block. We have a SPANKING cover by the talented Melinda VanLone, and bonus material which did not make it into the final publication.

And since I just can’t wait, here’s the new cover:

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How cool is that? I’m very pleased with it.

I also have another surprise…but you’ll have to sign up for my newsletter to see it first :) I do put out a monthly newsletter about editing, but this one is strictly for new releases and special tidbits for my own work. Trust me, you won’t be spammed (spam is gross in ANY FORM) and you’ll most likely get a newsletter a mere few times a year. If you want to keep up with my blistering publication schedule (okay, that might have been a tiny bit sarcastic) sign up for notifications of new releases and who knows? At some point I may just throw in a plastic rocket! BECAUSE I’M CRAZY LIKE THAT!

I really am. I wouldn't lie to you.
I really am. I wouldn’t lie to you.

Let me know in the comments what you think of the new cover, and stay tuned for more shenanigans!

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Inspiration For Mondays-Josip Novakovich

Josip Novakovich

When I first started writing flash fiction, I was lucky enough to fall into a workshop of writers who were amazing people. They had a profound influence on my writing, and without them I’m not sure where I’d be right now in my writing career. Workshops are tricky things–they can make or break you as a writer. I learned so much from these generous and talented people, and that’s a debt I will never be able to repay.

In between workshops, I ran across a book titled Fiction Writer’s Workshop by Josip Novakovich. The blurb under the title reads, “The key elements of a writing workshop; clear instruction, illustrated by contemporary and classic works, innovative exercises and methods to gauge your progress.”

Josip Novakovich

It’s one of my favorites of the writing books in my library; I’ve had it and used it for close to fifteen years. The exercises are excellent, with chapters on sources, setting, character, plot, POV, dialog and scene, beginning and endings, description and word choice, voice, and revision. There are 127 exercises in all, and you can take them in a linear way or pick and choose.

Participating in a workshop can be a most amazing experience, but it does take time and effort. And a workshopping environment isn’t for everyone. This book fills the gap nicely, and I highly recommend it for both beginners and old-timers, because while beginners thirst for knowledge, you are never too old to learn something new.

From the introduction:

“As a writer you need a strong sense of independence, of being and thinking on your own–so go ahead, work alone. I will give you a lot of advice, but you need not take it. Especially when you disagree, you will formulate your own principles. No matter what advice I suggest in this book, which is designed to be a fiction workshop you can attend on your own, you ought to write freely. Ought and free don’t seem to fit together, and that’s another paradox of writing: If you can incorporate several writing principles and yet retain and even advance your independence of writing, you’ve got it made.”

Do you have any favorite books on writing fiction? Please share in the comments!

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Arrrgh, Me Mateys! In Honor of Talk Like A Pirate Day…

I figured I’d treat you to a piece of flash fiction I wrote a while back in honor of Talk Like a Pirate Day, included in the “Not Nice” collection, available on Amazon. Enjoy!

MUTINY
 
“Slap on the irons and toss the traitor in the brig, savvy?” roared Captain Morgan Larch. “Mutiny is a hangin’ offense, yar it is, and soon the crows’d be feastin’ on yer yella hide!”
 
The same pirates who had whispered support and betrayal to Seaman Jamie Peterson shackled and threw the insubordinate fool in the dank hold of the ship. Rats nibbled on exposed toes and the smell of fish and rot permeated the air. The activity of the ship continued in the wake of the aborted mutinous effort; mops swabbed the deck and the captain bellowed orders which were followed immediately.
 
Jamie sat in the dark, contemplating the inevitable fate looming, and shuddered. The cruel and tyrannical command of Captain Larch had grown too much for the fair-minded sea dog to accept any longer. If dying was the price which had to be paid, so be it. The traitors left behind would have to deal with their own conscience.
 
It was dark and cold in the brig; Jamie shivered and tried to keep bare feet from the rats. It was hard to tell the passage of time, but Jamie used it to clear a conscience heavy from a loss of honor over the last few months.
 
Past exploits came to mind and inspired shame. Pillaging, thievery, spying…vowing to change pirating ways, Jamie felt a sense of peace that had been sorely lacking. A fitting state of mind in which to meet the Maker.
 
Jamie was startled from a doze by the barked command of first mate Joe Peraulta. “Get ye up to yer feet, matey,” snarled the officer. “Yer time has come, so it has.”
 
Hauled up on deck and shackles clanking, Jamie caught sight of the noose dangling from the yardarm and swallowed hard. The captain glared from the wheel deck with arms crossed. The leering faces of the crew of pirates showed no mercy.
 
Until a screeching voice split the air. “Morgan? Jamie? Yooohoooo!”
 
“Oh my gosh, that’s Mom! Quick, everybody grab something! She’ll have a cow if she sees us like this!” exclaimed “Captain” Morgan. There was a mad dash to clean up the playhouse, to hide the cutlasses, eye patches and handcuffs. Someone scooped up Horace, the gerbil who liked to nibble toes, and stuffed him back in his cage.
 
By the time Mrs. Larch reached the playhouse, everyone was sitting in their assigned seat around a table set with a lovely tea service.
 
“How nice, “said Mrs. Larch. “Is there any tea left, Josephine? And Morgan, what happened to your hair ribbon, dear? Jamie honey, there’s a smudge on your dress, how many times have I told you to be careful before church?”
 
“Yes, matey…uh, I mean ma’am,” Jamie said before she could catch herself. She stifled a giggle at the look on Morgan’s face.
 
Josephine folded her hands demurely in her lap as Morgan poured the tea.

Athena’s Promise has a new cover and new formatting! Check it out on Amazon :)

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What the Hell is Flash Fiction?

In Which Our Heroine Encounters an English Teacher

So, here I am at a social event — I know, hard to believe, isn’t it? (Yes, once in awhile you can find me out and about with real people. It happens.) A woman I hadn’t seen in a long time approached me and we started chatting about this and that, and she asks me if I’m still doing “my little writing thing”. (I may have gritted my teeth here.) I realize her interest because I know she’s an English teacher, although I don’t know the grade level she teaches or even if she actively teaches anymore. The rest of the conversation went something like this:

“So, are you still doing your little writing thing?”

“Why yes, indeed I am.”

“How nice. How’s that going?”

“Quite well, actually. I’ve just released my first collection of flash fiction.”

“Oh, really? You mean, like a book?”

“Yes. Exactly like a book.”

“What is flash fiction?”

Whaaaa?

This floored me. Granted, my school days are far behind me, and I can’t remember if we ever covered a unit on flash fiction, but that was a looooong time ago and I would think, with the resurgence of the popularity of flash fiction, an English teacher would have some clue about it. I explained as best I could, and then it occurred to me there may be a lot of people out there who were not quite sure about the definition of flash.

Flash fiction, as defined by Wikipedia, is “fiction of extreme brevity”, although the entry goes on to say there really is no “definitive” description of flash fiction. To further confuse things, flash is also known by a number of different monikers — postcard fiction, micro-fiction, sudden fiction, nouvelles, smoke-long, prosetry, short shorts (not to be confused with the “short shorts” fashion garment of the 70s) and minute fiction.

These are a different kind of short shorts.

Generally speaking, fiction of less than 1500 words is thought of as flash, although the word count can vary. I’ve seen flash in a little as six words — don’t make me quote Ernest Hemingway here, we’ve seen it a million times — and some flash fiction appears in 55 words, 100 words, etc.

What makes flash so unique is within the parameters of word count, the writer presents a complete story. There’s a beginning, middle and an end; a protagonist, conflict and resolution. However, flash fiction is limited by word count, so some of these elements are hinted at or left to the reader to contemplate rather than spelled out in detail.

Flash fiction pushes the boundaries in a number of ways. The word count forces both the writer and the reader to work a bit harder. The writer has to convey an idea, a situation, a story by choosing not just the right words, but the perfect words in order to properly communicate their tale. A reader has to do his/her part by paying close attention to not only the the word choice, but the concept and reason behind them and extrapolate from there. To me, it’s a much more intimate writer/reader relationship. It’s a matter of trust. I, the writer, am going to trust you, the reader, to the part of the story I’m not telling. You, the reader, are trusting me, the writer, to give you the words so you can do that.

Inconceivable! I don't think that word means what you think it means.

This concept applies to all flash fiction, even the esoteric type that reads more like poetry or stream-of-consciousness. Indeed, some flash fiction will resemble more poetry than prose. The lines are not definitive, remember, and so the writer has room to play.

This is what makes flash look easy when in fact, it is probably one of the most challenging disciplines in writing. You can hide nothing when it comes to writing flash. I have compared it to wearing spandex — every bump, lump and stray hair shows. You have to be clean, concise and brief. You don’t have the space or the time to dump backstory, explain character or detail a setting. You must tell your story in as few words as possible, and trust the reader to handle the rest.

Flash fiction is a great exercise for writers, because it will teach you the value of word choice and how to set a scene or tell a story by showing. Even within its strict parameters of word count, there is a world of creativity just waiting to be tapped. It seems easy, but it is not. However, it is a lot of fun to write, and a total rush when you pull it off successfully.

My answer to the English teacher? I sold her a copy of my book. :)

Find “Not Nice and Other Understatements” at Amazon and now at Smashwords in any format you desire! Autographed copies are still available through the link on this page. Spread the word! And thanks for all of your support!

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Wordless Wednesday Ain't So Wordless

It’s hard for me to be wordless. Oh, I have my moments, but they are few and far between. It’s a blessing and a curse, as anyone who has spent any time with me knows. Heh.

****

A potpourri of sorts, today.

— I am very sad to read of the death of Captain Phil Harris. For those of you who are unfamiliar, he was the captain of the Cornelia Marie on the Discovery Channel’s show, Deadliest Catch. This program deals with fishing for crab on the dangerous Bering Sea, and once you see an episode, you’re hooked. I loved Captain Phil, he was my favorite. The guy was a force of nature. During one fishing expedition, he suffered a blot clot that passed through his heart and lungs…and kept on fishing. He didn’t know anything else, didn’t want to know anything else — he’d been fishing since he was seven years old, and at twenty-one was one of the youngest captains to run a fishing vessel in the Bering Sea. My condolences to his sons, Jake and Josh, and to the rest of his family. He was a mighty man, and will be sorely missed by millions.

— Women are a mystery, as many a confused male can attest, but these Women of Mystery offer that little something extra. Today, they’ve posted some very interesting flash fiction contests that might be of some interest to my fellow flashers. Check it out, I know I will.

— Speaking of submitting, Flash Fiction Online is accepting submissions and they pay for them, too! Publication here counts toward the requirements for membership in the SFWA, and that’s a definite plus.

— Speaking of flash fiction, I was able to polish up a piece I wrote a while back, and I’m going to post it Friday for #flashfriday. It started out as a romance and turned….well, twisted. I know, try to contain your shock. I actually giggled through most of it, which just goes to show you how twisted I am and why I don’t write romance. Heh.

— And, because no day is complete without a time-waster or two, not to mention if you’re as sick and tired of this nasty winter weather as I am, a friend of mine sent me this link to help lift the February doldrums. Anything that provokes a smile in February is a wonderful thing.

So much for a Wordless Wednesday, right? Maybe next week. Heh.

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Friday's Flash Fiction

Instead of a prompt, this week I figured I’d give you a piece of flash that was published in the fifth edition of Fictitious Force. A fine publication; on hiatus now, but hopefully it will return soon.

The prompt for this little story came when I was a member of Critical Ms — one of the best workshops in which I’ve participated. Quite a stellar group of writers, and at first I felt over my head. One of the guys threw out the prompt — “garbanzo beans” and this little story resulted. It’s actually one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy it.

(Yes, I’m aware it needs another edit — I’m never “done” with a piece, but sometimes ya just gotta let them go.)

Learning The Hard Way


“Roberto, get that out of your nose right now!”

Miguel jumped at the sound of his mother’s voice, and looked over at his brother. Grinning sheepishly, Roberto folded the garbanzo bean in his napkin. Miguel giggled and gazed at his eleven year-old brother with respect. He never would have thought to put a garbanzo up his nose.

He looked over the stained tablecloth at Noni into her sad, dark eyes.

“No, Miguel. Just because Roberto tried it doesn’t mean you have to.”

Miguel blushed and hung his head. How did his Noni always know what he was thinking?

“Hush, Mama,” said the boy’s mother. “Miguel knows better.”

Roberto snorted, knowing Miguel certainly did not.

Noni sighed. It was a big sigh for her tiny, frail body. Miguel always wondered how someone so strong could be so small.

“Roberto should know better too, Rosa. Miguel will try anything Roberto does.” Noni turned her gaze on her grandsons. “I think I need to tell you two niño traviesos a story tonight.” Miguel sat up straighter in his chair and exchanged an excited look with his brother. They loved Noni’s stories.

“Mama, not that story. You’ll scare them.”

Noni turned her patient and sad gaze on her daughter.  “Rosa, I am their grandmamma. I will tell them what they need to hear.”

Rosa gave up. She had heard the story as a little girl and it had scared her ever since. Some things are tradition.

#

Noni tucked the boys into the bed they shared. They were both wriggling in excitement, giggling and getting comfortable under the well worn quilt that Noni had made with her own two hands. They loved their grandmamma’s stories. She didn’t tell them every night, so it was exciting and special when she did.

Her grandsons were her joy. Their beautiful liquid eyes; their chubby little boy toes; their sleek dark hair. Noni made herself comfortable in her special rocker beside their bed and folded wrinkled hands in her lap.

“Tonight I’m going to tell you a story about what happens when little children don’t listen to their mama.”

Both boys shivered in anticipation. Oh, this was going to be a good one. All the good ones started this way.

#

Once upon a time, there were two little girls who were sisters. Their names were Maria and Lucita, and they loved each other very much.

Maria was the elder of the two girls, and every thing that she did, Lucite wanted to do.

(Noni looked gravely at the two boys, and Roberto blushed.)

It wasn’t always a bad thing, such as when Maria helped her mama cook dinner and Lucita helped.  Maria assisted with the laundry because that is what Mama did to earn money, and Lucita would help too. But when it came to naughty things, or bad things, Lucita would follow right along with her sister and end up in as much or more trouble than Maria.

One night at the dinner table, Maria started to put a garbanzo bean up her nose.

(Miguel started to giggle, and Noni quelled him with a glance. “Do you want me to stop, bambino?”

“No, Noni, por favor.”

Silencio, then.”)

Mama caught Maria right away, (like your mama caught you, Roberto.) But Mama didn’t see Lucita putting the bean up her nose, like Maria tried to do. Maria was banished from the table, and Lucita wanted to finish her enchiladas, so she didn’t tell.

At first it didn’t bother her, this bean. But it liked it so much in Lucita’s nose it swelled and grew bigger and bigger. You couldn’t tell from the outside. It grew inside, towards her brain and her heart.

Days passed and the bean grew and grew. It started to change Lucita.

One day, Mama said to Maria, “Maria, take this basket outside and hang up the clothes for me. Take Lucita with you to help.”

“I don’t know where she is, Mama. I haven’t seen her all morning.”

“That child is going to get a beating.” Mama sighed. “Get those clothes on the line before it rains, hija.”

Maria lugged the big basket of clothes to the yard, mumbling under her breath because Lucita always helped her carry the basket.

(“I get mad at Miguel when he doesn’t help,” said Roberto.

“I always help!” was the retort.

Noni rocked in her rocking chair until the boys fell silent. “Do you want the rest of the story?” Both boys nodded solemnly.)

Maria set about pinning up Mr. Lopez’s we, heavy work pants. As she turned and bent to get the next pair of pants, she caught a glimpse of her sister standing in the garden.

“Lucita, Lucita!” she called.

Either Lucita didn’t hear her of didn’t want to hear her, and Maria started to get angry.  She marched over to the garden and grabbed Lucita by the arm.

“Lucita! I called you and called you…” Lucita’s head swiveled around and Maria screamed. Lucita’s beautiful, brown eyes were now green and empty. It was like she didn’t recognize Maria at all. The loamy aroma of the soil was rich and fragrant in Maria’s nostrils.

“Lucita, what’s wrong with you?” Maria looked down and saw Lucita’s feet buried in the moist soil of the garden. “What are you doing? You need to help me; you need to come out of there. Pronto!”

“No, Maria. I need to be out here. When I go in the house I’m so … hungry.”

“Hungry? Are you loco? Mama’s been looking for you, and I have too. I thought you would help me with the clothes.”

Lucita started to cry. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Maria. I feel so strange. I don’t like it in the house, I don’t like it in the dark, and I hear whispers in my head.”

“Whispers? What kind of whispers?”

“I don’t know what they’re saying. Not yet. I feel like I could understand them, but I don’t. I hear them all the time.” The tears continued to fall. “I can’t sleep, the only time I feel better is when I come out here and put my feet in the dirt.”

Maria lost patience. “You need to stop this daydreaming and help me with the clothes. Come on, or I’ll tell Mama you’re not helping any more.” Seeing her sister cry harder made Maria feel sad, so she wiped Lucita’s tears with her apron and said, “Come with me hermanita, help me with these clothes and then we’ll get something to eat. Don’t cry, you’re probably just tired.”

“Don’t tell Mama, promise me,” Lucita sobbed.

“I promise,” said Maria.

The two sisters went to hang the clothes, and it wasn’t until later that night Maria noticed the green smudges on her apron. At first she couldn’t figure out what they were, and then remembered how she had wiped Lucita’s tears.

Two weeks passed, and every time Mama couldn’t find Lucita, Maria would go and pull her from the garden, never telling Mama because she had promised. But Maria was very troubled and didn’t know what to do.

They shared a bed (like you two,) and one night Maria felt her sister shaking with sobs in the darkness.

“Lucita, what’s the matter?” Maria put her arms around her sister and held her as she cried harder. When the worst of the sobs had passed, Lucita whispered, “Maria, I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“Something is happening to me. And I think I know what it is and why.”

“Does it explain why you’re barefoot in the garden all the time?”

Si, and I’m scared. Remember that night you put the garbanzo up your nose?”

Si.”

“I put a bean up my nose when you did, only I didn’t tell and I never got it out.”

“Oh, my God.” Maria peered at her sister in the dark. “In your nose?”

Si.”

“Are you sure you didn’t get it out? I can’t see it.”

“I’m sure. I think it’s growing … inside me.”

“What?”

“Inside me. The only time I don’t feel hungry is when I’m outside in the dirt, with my face turned up to the rain and sun. The only time I feel at peace is outside. I think the bean is changing me into something.”

“Oh, you are crazy, loco!”

“I knew you would say that.” Lucita started to cry again.

“No, no, don’t cry anymore. We have to tell Mama.”

“No! We can’t! She would be so mad and what can she do? It’s in there now, so deep it’s not coming out! It’s never coming out, I know its not and I just had to tell you. I love you Maria, I want you to remember that.”

“I love you too, niña, but what do you mean? It’s never coming out? That’s it, I’m telling Mama tomorrow, we’ll get it out.” Maria hugged her little sister closer. “I’m telling Mama tomorrow.”

“It’s already too late.” The finality in Lucita’s tone chilled Maria’s heart.

(Miguel shivered and moved closer to Roberto.)

The next morning, Maria woke up in an empty bed. Her heart beating frantically, she ran through the little house looking for Lucita. She was nowhere to be found, and Maria ran to her Mama’s room and woke her up. She told Mama what she and Lucita had talked about the night before. Mama heard her out in silence and with tears in her eyes said,” Why don’t children ever listen? Do they think we know nothing?” Mama started sobbing.

“Oh my Lucita, we’ve lost you!”

“I think I know where she is, Mama,” and Maria started to cry.

Holding hands, Mama and Maria went to the garden where Maria had found Lucita day after day. In the middle, in Lucita’s favorite spot, was a beautiful bush with green, shiny leaves and fragile pink flowers just the shade of Lucita’s favorite hair ribbons.

The leaves rustled and Maria thought she heard them whisper, “Mama.”

#

The boys were silent.

“Is that a true story, Noni?” Roberto asked.

“You know I never lie, mi hito.” Noni pushed herself out of the rocking chair and bent over her grandsons to kiss them each goodnight. Miguel was unusually quiet, and he hugged his gandmamma tightly.

“Off to sleep with you. Remember, your Mama knows what’s best for you.”

“Yes, Noni, ” the boys chorused.

#

Noni made her way out of the bedroom, down the hallway and into the living room where Rosa was busy with her crocheting. Noni sat in her comfortable chair.

“All done with the story?”

Si.

“Did they believe it?”

Si. I expect Miguel will come to you tonight.”

Rosa sighed.

“At least they didn’t learn the hard way.”

Noni sighed.

“You still miss her, don’t you?”

“Every day.”

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Flash Fiction Friday VI

Example of spandex
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I can’t believe it’s been so long since I posted a flash fiction prompt. Why didn’t somebody poke me?

It’s a good way to stoke the fire; take a break from other projects; warm up your writing muscles; stretch your imagination. Give it a whirl, even if your main focus is non-fiction, blog writing, or poetry.

Keep in mind that every word counts toward advancing your story. It’s like wearing spandex — you can’t hide a thing.

This week’s prompt is:

When you feel you have to criticize Sam’s meat, something is definitely wrong.

Use this as a jumping off point. You may include the sentence in your piece, but you don’t have to.

Try to stay within 500 words. The POV is up to you.

I’ll post mine on Monday. Post yours on your site, and leave a link in the comments and I will read, read, read.

Have fun!



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