OFF #4 Flash Nonfiction from the Mind of a Writer

She set her fingers to the keyboard. From the back of her brain only recently freed from the confines of pregnancy hormones came scenes of highest adventure, deepest mystery, purest romance…

Screaming baby.

She ran up the stairs, suddenly reminded of the fact that it had been exactly 10 days since she had last exercised. Formally.

Back to the table. Deep breath. Fingers poised on the keyboard. She checked. Left on ASDF. Right on JKL:. Thumbs ready for action on the space bar.

This took her back to high school typing class. Fun times. And for once a subject had really come in handy on a regular basis for her entire adult life. Go figure.

Toddler crying.

Pause. Will she cry again? Will Husband tend to her? She hears his footsteps. He goes into the kitchen instead.

She checks the clock. 10:32 p.m. There’s still time. She can write her fiction and still have it posted by midnight.

Husband goes silent. What is he doing in the kitchen? He better not be making a mess. I just got it cleaned up.

FOCUS!

Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat… the dog on the chair next to her shakes and barks in his sleep as he chases some imaginary cat.

Time for the story. Where shall I go? Ancient Greece? The Byzantine Empire? Victorian England? Or perhaps deep into the heart of mid-to-late nineteenth century Texas?

What was it about Westerns? It seemed like no matter who you were and no matter what skill level you possessed as a writer, if you wrote a book that was either a Western or an Amish tale, there was some rule that meant you were to be automatically published.

So why had she been told time and time again in her studies as a writer and at various workshops and conferences that you shouldn’t write westerns or Amish books because they’d never get published?

It was a conspiracy.

Enough! Time to write!

Rats. Twenty words over. Twenty-four words over. Time to quit.