WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS!
🙂 Two years ago this week, I posted my first flash fiction after seeing Madison Woods’ notice on Facebook. I’m amazed at how fast the time has gone and how Friday Fictioneers has grown! 😀
Henry David Thoreau said it best.
“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”
Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the 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.
- While our name implies “fiction only” it’s perfectly Kosher to write a non-fiction piece as long as it meets the challenge of being a complete story in 100 words.
- **IT’S NOT A RACE TO SEE WHO CAN POST FIRST. TAKE YOUR TIME. EDIT. POLISH. THEN POST.**
- ***PLEASE MAKE NOTE IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT TO RECEIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.***
get the InLinkz code
*There is only one photo prompt. Any photos appearing after my story go with MY STORY and are NOT in any way a prompt!
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 99
To escape Paris gossip, a pair of lovers spent the winter of 1838-1839 on the island of Mallorca.
FROM MALLORCA WITH LOVE
“George, let me read this to you.
“‘To have a couple living outside the bonds of holy matrimony under my roof brings shame to my head. Your woman’s cigar smoking and wearing of the man’s clothes is a sin.
“‘All this I have tolerated for the privilege of hosting such a celebrated musician.
“‘While you have my sympathy, your disease puts the island in danger. Please burn the linens and leave.”
Frédéric Chopin lit George’s cigar, set fire to the letter and tossed it on the bed.
“Cherie, I am afraid we must do as he asks.”
Frédéric Chopin succumbed to the dreaded Consumption (Tuberculosis) 17 October 1849 at age 39.
Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin at age 34. A novelist, she went by her pen name “George Sand.”
The only thing better than hearing Nocturne in C-Sharp Minor on piano is savoring its sweetness on piano and violin. If you have an extra five minutes, for your listening pleasure (and mine):