Friday Flash Fiction's founder reflects on writing and life on the day after the Bastille Day terror attacks in Nice.
Once, they had called her the greatest writer of her generation – “capable of creating sequences of words that moved, inspired and captivated” people.
The blank screen in front of her gave lie to that long-ago review. She typed one word, then another before hitting backspace.
She had wanted to write about recent events. The horrors that unfolded were fact, but people often found some kind of understanding in fiction. She imagined herself in his head, driven by forces far different than other people’s motivation.
In the end, she couldn’t. She sat in the lorry cab, unable to imagine any further.