I am thankful to be a part of this awesome global family called Friday Fictioneers.

Writers:

• Depending on your preference, leave your blog link  in the comment section or use the linkz tool (or both ;)). My story follows for those who’d rather not read it before writing their own.
• Please make sure your link works. There were a couple last week that didn’t. If 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).
• If your blog requires multiple steps for visitors to leave comments, see if you can simplify it. If you can disable CAPTCHA –that wavy line of unreadable letters and numbers– please for the sake of our writerly nerves, disable it. It’s frustrating to have to leave a DNA sample, your blood type and your shoe size  just to make a comment. (So I exaggerate. But hopefully you get the picture).
• Challenge yourself to keep stories to 100 words. (There’s no penalty for going over or under).
• Make note in your blog if you’d prefer not to have constructive criticism.
• Be kind in your comments to others.
• ABOVE ALL–HAVE FUN!

• 

  Copyright-Joyce Johnson

*Note-I know some view this link tool as something of a pain, but the reality is that you’ll garner more reads and comments if you leave your link here. Click the blue guy and follow the instructions. Please make sure you’ve entered your link correctly. 


get the InLinkz code

And now…

Following a wrestling match…

Is my story.

FACE TO FACE

             “It was a dark and stormy night.”

            “Seriously?” Tad peered over his book.

            “It worked for Snoopy.” Jaycee slammed her finger against the backspace key and glared at the professor’s photo prompt. “I’m blank.”

            “It’s only a hundred words. Write what you know.”   

            “I know nothing.”

            “Ha! You’ve got plenty floating around in that pea brain of yours.”

            “Like alphabet soup.”

             “Stir it.”

            Who knew a simple creative writing class would be filled with so many trapdoors? The sculpted face in the picture mocked her with its sideways grin.

            Fingers trembling she typed, “The Me Nobody Wants to Know.”