I didn’t know what flash fiction or drabble was until one of my publishers asked me to write one for their newsletter last year, but I’ve actually been writing them every now and then since my teens. I just didn’t know what they were called. I simply called them short short stories.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about taking up writing again, and because I don’t have a lot of patience to write longer pieces, flash fiction seems to fit the bill. The thing is, I need other people to set the parameters for me, so I’m looking for suggestions regarding length, topic, or special considerations.

As an example of what I mean, the flash fiction I wrote for my publisher, Loose Id, was supposed to be about the publisher’s mascots Loowis and Loosey, specifically about how Loosey was created, and the story had to be 100 words or less. I went for 100 words exactly and wrote this:

There was a nip at my ankle. I acknowledged it. “Have you decided?”

The lizard shrugged. He placed a paw at his heart, another on his crotch.

“You’ll want to keep that second one when I’ve finished her. Trust me.”

He frowned in thought then bugged his eyes in horror. Both paws recoiled before pounding frantically on his chest.

“You sure now?” I asked.

Vigorous nod.

“Okay, then.” I reached down, fingertip tracing his chest. When I sat up, I had one of his ribs in hand. Already, it grew.

“Loosey, you said. Right?”

He grinned.

And so it began.

Over the weekend, Bonnie Dee challenged people to write her a story in 100 words or less, so I wrote this, again at exactly 100 words:

At curtain, he prodded his leading actress. Her prop’s hilt hurt, and he wanted to praise her. She’d never rehearsed the final scene with him, had refused to in fact, yet here she was on opening night—the perfect Juliet. Critics claimed she “lived her roles,” but he hadn’t believed it until now. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she really loved him. Romeo.

He shook her again, her body a dead weight. The bladeless prop fell aside, and a gush of coppery warmth dripped down his ribs.

He realized suddenly why she had agreed to only one performance.

When challenged to write a six-word story—a là Hemingway’s “Baby shoes: for sale, never worn.”—I wrote this:

She smiled, and the Trojans warred.

And there’s also the piece I wrote where each sentence began with a letter that spelled out the title, and I guess a certain poem I wrote could count as flash fiction.

Anyway, that’s the idea. I’d like to write at least one flash fiction a week, but I need parameters and suggested story topics. Please send some my way—you make up the rules, and I’ll make up the stories. The up side for everyone is that I get to exercise the writing side of my noggin, and you get to read free fiction.

We win all around.

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