The Flash Fiction Writer sighed to herself, but what, what? She had found herself entangled in the lives of Alice, Danny, Behulah, Trent, the bug fixers, spiders and the women with murderous tendencies. They had all become dear to her and she adored the way their stories sometimes took unexpected twists.
Could she, perhaps, write a 100-word play, or possibly an angst-filled poem which hit on the complexities of modern life in a mere line or three?
She wrote a line – and stopped. Blast it, there really was very little that rhymed with orange.
Could she, perhaps, write a 100-word play, or possibly an angst-filled poem which hit on the complexities of modern life in a mere line or three?
She wrote a line – and stopped. Blast it, there really was very little that rhymed with orange.
