LOOKING FOR FRIDAY FICTIONEERS? YOU’RE IN THE WRITE PLACE!
We are a growing community of blogging writers who come together each week from all parts of the globe to share individual flash fictions from a single photo prompt. The prompt goes up early Wednesday morning CST to give each writer time to compose a story by Friday. Some use the photo as a mere inspiration while others use it as an illustration. Use your imagination and think outside the box.
WARNING! This is an addiction for which there is no 12 step recovery program.
Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word count.)
Make every word count.
- Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
- MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH FICTION. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).Thanks to Blogspot bloggers for disabling their CAPTCHAs.
- Make note in your blog if you’d prefer not to have constructive criticism.
THIS PAGE IS “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” AND IS NOT THE PLACE TO PROMOTE POLITICAL OR RELIGIOUS VIEWS.
YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOUR STORY AND POLICING COMMENTS. YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO DELETE THE ONES YOU CONSIDER OFFENSIVE.
PLEASE EXERCISE DISCRETION WHEN COMMENTING ON A STORY! BE RESPECTFUL.
SHOULD SOMEONE HAVE SEVERE OR HOSTILE DIFFERENCES OF OPINION WITH ANOTHER PERSON IT’S MY HOPE THAT THE INVOLVED PARTIES WOULD TAKE IT TO EMAIL OR ANOTHER METHOD OF PRIVATE MESSAGING.
This week’s PHOTO PROMPT is from Renee Heath. A pleasant picture for those of us in cold winter climates.
*Genre: Historical Fiction*
3 December in the year of our Lord 1765
It is with deep regret I write that I shan’t return to England. I cannot for I would not have you plight your troth to a murderer.
Now I must remain to make amends.
At the first the savage misliked me and I feared him. But over time we became friends. Together we laughed and fished the Seminole way.
Surely these people threaten us with war. Yet it was neither my musket nor my dagger that felled my warrior brother, but my white man’s curse—smallpox.