Actually, I'm thinking about Flash Fiction quite a bit at the moment. Despite my good intentions to stick to only working on my various book projects, the lure of the flash fiction competition and the urgent need for something other than plastic with which to pay the milkman, has proved too strong. I'm currently working on several pieces for the Earlyworks Press Flash Fiction Competition which has a first prize of £100 (not bad for 100 words or less) and closes 31st July 2013. Details can be found at http://www.earlyworkspress.co.uk/Competition_flash_details.htm
I do enjoy writing flash fiction and have blogged about it before. I really enjoy the challenge of telling a complete story in such a short number of words and also because I think you can be more "poetic" (whatever that means) with flash fiction than you can be with longer fiction. In fact some of my favourite flash fiction pieces started life as poems.
If you are interested in writing flash fiction or just learning more about it, there is a great website (http://www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk/) that seems to have been set up specifically to promote flash fiction and National Flash Fiction Day. There are some really good quotes from writers defining flash fiction (I particularly like the one that describes flash fiction as being "a shot of espresso or tequila - punchy and direct") and a comprehensive list of magazines and websites that publish it. There is an A-Z of prompts if you're stuck for ideas and a shop! I really loved the flash fiction postcards and was very tempted to buy some but then remembered that milk was probably more of a priority.
Also, if you'd like to read one of my previous blog posts on flash fiction and pick up some tips on successful flash fiction writing, you can find it at http://www.melissalawrencewriter.blogspot.co.uk/2011/12/micro-fiction-fractured-west.html
And if you'd like read one of my flash fiction pieces, here it is. (Warning! Contains some strong language.)
She pulled the covers up tight around her throat. She could feel her heart beating like an automated clock. Maybe, she thought, if I could just push my head underneath the covers, whatever it is will go away. But when she tried, she discovered she was completely incapable of movement, in exactly the same way as she knew she was completely incapable of speech.
He slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator. Fucking rabbit, he thought to himself. It deserves to be squashed to smithereens. He clutched the steering wheel tightly, trying to control his breathing. He could feel the bile rising in his mouth. Bloody women, he said to himself. Why do they always screw with your head? Bloody women. Bloody rabbits.
Copyright Melissa Lawrence 2013