Why Writers Should Flash

Flashing is a great way to tighten your writing, instead of having pages to set up your story, you only have a line or two. It's also a great way to feel more productive, a novel takes a long commitment, but with flash fiction, you can get several pieces quickly to the point 'the end'. I find it very challenging and have a lot of work to do before I can claim to master the flash. Luckily for me, Romantic Friday Writers provide plenty of challenges for flash writing. Why not give it a go? Click the picture to sign up to this challenge, your prompt - Being the Perfect Ex.

Unsure how to tackle Flash Fiction? Try these links for some tips:

Fiction Factor - Writing Flash Fiction

Matt Moore Writes - How to Write Flash Fiction

He’d stay if he knew.
‘I've got the photo album. You love looking at it, remember?’
No. She did not remember. Not the album or the woman holding it.

‘Here’s your favourite, you and Lilly.’

Lucy straightened. It was the photograph from the Autumn dance. Lucy was wearing her new tight skirt, just like Lilly. The girls had changed in the ladies room, Lilly warning Lucy, Keep your mouth shut, Mum’ll flip if she finds out. And there he was, dark hair combed back, thumbs in pockets, wild eyes daring the camera. Lucy ran a finger over the the figure in the picture.

‘Max.’

The woman turned the page.

Lucy peered at the next photograph. ‘Who?’

‘It’s you.’

‘I’m so… old.’

The woman laughed and gave her a hug. ‘That was your seventieth, everyone came, remember?’

Seventy? But last night her and Max… they fought. He left. 

‘Here’s one of the whole family.’ The woman pointed to a group of smiling strangers. 

‘Who’s this?’ Lucy poked at a face.

‘That’s your nephew, Sam.’

‘Who’s this?’

‘Ron, Lilly’s husband, and look there’s Lilly. Jess and Rachel are Sam’s kids. See, I’m there too, with Richard.’ 

Lucy's finger jabbed a pasty image with lifeless eyes and then waved it at the man with the matching face seated by her hospital bed. 
‘Him?’

The woman frowned. ‘Henry, remember?’

‘Where’s Max?’

The woman's shoulders dropped, she reached across and closed the album.

‘Did I tell him?’

‘Tell him what? Who is Max?’

Keep your mouth shut. Mum’ll flip if she finds out.

‘We had a fight. Lilly will know him.’

‘Lilly died last year, remember?’

Lilly’s gone?

Lost. Everyone she loved gone. A moment flittered over a lifetime.
Except... ‘Do I have a child?’

‘Yes! You do remember, don’t you?’

The woman’s dark eyes shone with pleasure, those same eyes… a name...

‘Gemma?’

Gemma hugged her. She was hers. A flash of memory, a wild-eyed girl, maybe four, in a muddy dress.

‘Gemma… your father...’

Gemma pulled back, her grin wide. ‘It’s okay Mum, Dad’s here too. He always comes to visit his sweetheart, don’t you Dad?’

The old man’s focus didn’t move towards them, but he nodded.

Henry? Max had known. They’d fought. He left.

Lilly’s warning. Yes, she’d just shut her mouth. She was Henry’s sweetheart.

I'm not at all sensitive when it comes to feedback, feel free to critique if the mood strikes you, I do listen... sometimes.