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Category Archives: Flash Fiction

Very short fiction pieces. Usually under 1000 words.

I’m A Finalist!

Recently I wrote a flash fiction piece called The Book.  I posted it on my blog and entered it in a story competition at Hannah Rose’s Blog.  Well, I am one of three finalists and the voting is still going on!  Why not stop by and read the stories?   You might like one of them well enough to vote. (Hint, hint!)

There’s no prize involved, but it’s nice to know that I’m one of the top three, right?   Enjoy the competition and the finalists’ stories.  I liked all three, but I was partial to one.

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Posted by on March 1, 2012 in Competitions, Flash Fiction

 

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Friendly Encouragement

Ena Noel Award for Encouragement

Image via Wikipedia

I owe the inspiration for tonight’s blog post to a fellow blogger, Ellie Mack.  She gave me some encouragement do to my somewhat piteous post last night and It inspired me to write about how friends can sometimes help us to pull up our bootstraps and get back to it.

Have you ever felt like you just had so many ideas spinning through your head and yet couldn’t get them written?  That’s how I feel now.  I have three great ideas for novels that two of the three are no more than a page of notes each, right now.  I also have a lot of ideas about how I want to improve this blog by organizing it better, enhancing the EOS quality of it and writing more posts about writing and fewer posts about the random junk I originally started throwing on here in my new blogger zeal.  I also have a few ideas about writing articles for e-zines and some poems I need to write.  I love writing flash fiction too, but that’s just for fun and practice.

As if all that weren’t enough to be roiling around in my cranial cavity, I just received a shipment of 20 gallons of paint and need to paint my house.  My brother-in-law is going to be visiting with his family in two weeks and I want the place to really shine when he gets here.  (He’s a retired Colonel and my wife is always eager to bless him with good impressions of how we’re doing.)

I have a lot on my plate, but all I can think about is writing my first novel.  It’s a great idea for a novel, too.  My wife literally dreamed it up.  She does that.  She dreams full plots with a beginning, a middle and an end.  (I read somewhere that Stephen King dreamed the plots for some of his best novels.)  The only thing she doesn’t always have is a good twist at the end, but we are both very imaginative, so we can develop that as we go.  I think I have the twist I want for this one, anyway.

So I let my blog stagnate for two weeks and now I’m feeling guilty.  Here I am trying to establish an online presence so that everyone will possibly look forward to reading my work when I produce it and then I leave everyone in the lurch for two whole weeks?  Not acceptable.  But Ellie cheered me right up!  So I decided to write about the power of encouragement.

It’s not just some kind words you throw out there and forget about.  Real encouragement comes from the heart of one person and lifts up the heart of another.  There are so many things we can say to one another and yet most of us usually don’t choose encouraging words.  If you don’t agree, look at the comment section of any online news site.   You’ll most likely see that about seventy-five percent of the comments are negative.

I once heard the statement that “life is pain and anyone who tells you different is either lying or selling something.” I don’t think it has to be that way.  Our words have power and they produce results.  Just think what a different place the world would be if each of us made a choice to encourage at least one person every day.

I thank God daily for a wife who encourages me to write.  I am also thankful for the encouragement of friends like Alex and Laura.  They are friends of mine who never seem to have anything negative to say to me or about me.  Now believe me, if they wanted to find negative things to say about me they certainly could, but they don’t.  You see?  That’s what makes a difference in people’s lives.  In fact, they and my wife were the main ones encouraging me to publish The Lost Flip Flop and The Honeybee Fiasco, my two short stories, published on Amazon.com.  Another is coming soon and I feel so much better now that I’m doing something with my writing talent.

Encourage someone today and see how much better you feel too.  Trust me, you won’t be sorry you did so.

 

 

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Week #30 of Julia’s 100 Word challenge For Grown Ups

100wcgu-7

This week’s prompt is “…it wasn’t my fault…”

The challenge is to complete your entry with 100 words or less, creating a story or verbal image that captures the imagination.  You can enter your own entry at Julia’s 100 Word Challenge For Grownups.

Also, be sure to visit the 100 Word Challenge for schools, where the idea originated.

This is still following my Valentine’s Day theme, albeit in a twisted sort of way.  Enjoy!

Confession

“It wasn’t my fault” she said.

“Who said anything about it being your fault?” said the detective with a sidelong look to his partner.

“He was my boyfriend.”

“Really?  For how long?” said the second detective.

“Almost a year.”

“Was he seeing anyone else?” said the first detective.

“Yes, but he didn’t care about her.  If he had just listened to me none of this would have happened”

“What would you have told him?”

“What does it matter now?”

“What indeed?”

“Should I call a lawyer?”

“We said you were entitled to one.”

“Maybe I should… It wasn’t my fault”

 

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Story Competition

I found another writing competition to enter.  I like these things.  This one has nine story cubes, like dice, that generate nine little pictures as prompts.  In addition, there’s a 350 word limit.  Good idea for a creative writing competition, Hannah.

Here’s my entry.

The Book

By Roger Engle

(345 words)

The shooting star arced across the sky.  It seemed like a streak of light, but that’s because it was moving so fast.  There was a roar, the ground trembled and they realized it was approaching, not simply crossing their field of view.  A thundering roar, the fireball skimmed the treetops, crashing a half-kilometer from them.  The explosion knocked them down with a shockwave and heat from the blast.

Tommy woke up first.  He aroused the others.  Corey was covered in ashes and debris.  They found him, shoes knocked off, red socks showing.  Derrick slapped him to wake him.

Corey looked at Tommy, Simon and Derrick, puzzled.

“Come on, man!  Get up!” said Tommy.  “Where are your shoes?”

Corey noticed his feet with surprise, and then found his shoes.  Putting them on he suggested they go examine the crater.

The boys ran through the woods until they reached a steaming furrow in the ground, uprooted trees, piled dirt on both sides, marked the spot clearly.  Steam and smoke obscured their vision.  They followed the furrow and saw an object glowing at the bottom of the crater.  Sheep from a nearby farm could be heard bleating senselessly

The object was shaped like a rectangular box with glowing symbols on it. As they stood there watching, it opened with a hiss.  They were surprised to find a book inside.  On the cover was printed, in English, the words, “How to Save Your Planet”.

“What the heck?” said Simon, wonder in his eyes “Really?”

They heard a crunching noise, saw a man touch down through swirling mist, his parachute falling behind him.  He had a patch on his shoulder in the shape of a lightning bolt.  As he slipped out of his harness his weapon came up.  “You boys will have to come with me.”

Ten minutes later a troop transport truck cleared the rise behind them and stopped within yards of the crater.  Soldiers poured out, surrounded them, weapons at ready.  Following the orders given them, they climbed the ladder into the truck.  Where were they taking them?


 

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Trifextra: Week Two

I found this blog today and figured I’d try their Trifextra Challenge.  I’m always looking for some good writing exercise in which to engage.  The challenge is to “give [us] a complete story in three sentences.”

I attempted to make this an ode to the approaching holiday; to honor lovers everywhere, while bringing to mind the euphoria that accompanies the reward for having bested every obstacle in the path of young love.  This is entitled “First Kiss”

 

 

First Kiss

Peter waits as Kelly’s lips, poised in a perfect kiss, hesitate just fractions of an inch from his.  He braved the torturous deriding of his competition, even a thrashing from her strongest pursuer, Bill Simmons, and conquered the fears and insecurities within his own heart to be under this apple tree, on this secluded hill on the backside of Mr. Hastings’s orchard watching her as she brings her lips to his to reward him.  Now his senses explode as his head swims, his heart pounds and he, lost in time and space becomes nothing but lips, tongue, the smell of blossoms and co-mingled bliss!

 

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Pulling Petals

Tulip, an actinomorphic flower with three peta...

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I wrote this a month ago while watching the new, cinema production of  Jayne Eyre.  I guess it should be devoted to all the Valentine’s Day lovers in the blogosphere, but in my heart I can only think of one; my dear wife Katrina.

Pulling Petals

He loves me?

He loves me not?

What equitable worth might this faerie thaumaturgy bestow?

For how could it answer that she should select from the randomness of a walk through a beflowered dale, a blossom endowed with its petals as such that they are enumerated evenly or oddly, just so?  What oracle, be it sylvan or nether, could venture to tread before this love stricken soul, rapturing away any spare petals, that the bloom she doth pluck might infallibly portend the romantic success or abject failure fated for said maiden?

He loves me not?

Never say it, dear!

Can she not see?  Or perhaps she possesses not a looking-glass; but surely a momentary reflection from a pool would be sufficient; that she is much more highly endowed with beauty, fairer even than the flowers that she so freely maims in her search for an answer.  Were she to but meet head on the gaze of the young brute she so adores, she would find the reply to her inquiries glaring, no, screaming back at her.

He loves you dear lady.

How could he not?

 
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Posted by on February 4, 2012 in Authors, Flash Fiction, Inspiration, Poetry, Writing

 

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