Turning, turning, turning. It just keeps turning in my hands, the cool, slick clay. Coming to life beneath my fingers. Turning, turning, my foot keeps the rhythm. The clay takes shape like an elegant lady, dancing on ice. Everywhere is turning. Wet, red hands at work. A mournful whimper escapes my tight throat, a momentary lapse of focus leaves a soggy lump in the lady’s place. I look to the others for help, or solace. But they just keep turning, turning, turning.


“Not Running”

I could run almost before I could walk. I don’t remember not running. It’s as much a part of me as the skin that holds me in. We would race, play tag or hide and seek. It was fun. I called it fun. But then it got dark outside. 
The air is fresh and crisp. It feels good against my hot cheeks. My lungs drink it in like water, because I’m running again. I always run.

Here’s How it’s Going Down

My dear readers, school is a vicious beast, and it’s been snapping at my legs since it began again 6 weeks ago. I’ve hardly had time to think, much less write. But, as you writers out there know, just because you don’t have time to write doesn’t mean the stories stop coming – it just means you constantly feel like your head is going to explode from all the racket your characters (new and old) are making up there.

For the last few weeks, I’ve had a number of little ideas flitting about. Little ideas. The kinds of ideas I might turn into a poem. Yet, these ideas have refused the thought of becoming poems. And so, I’ve come to a conclusion. These ideas, these stories, were born for flash fiction. But not just ordinary flash fiction – extreme flash fiction. We’re talking less than 100 words each here, folks. No more than two paragraphs. These stories are meant to be very minimalistic, very fast, but emotionally charged and full of meaning – often multiple meanings. The kind of thing an English major like myself can go all-out on. The idea received much positive feedback on Facebook, so I have decided that I will be using them to kill two birds with one stone.

I am attempting to write one of these flash fictions every day, a minimum of 5 a week, to keep the words flowing. I will be posting them here as they’re written, though you’ll see little else of me. My plan is to post something every day, either a flash fiction, or a quote I enjoy like I did yesterday. I will also soon be giving you all an update on my publication process – you can expect to hear more on that in late October. The first of these flash fictions will go live shortly after this post.



“Regarding, then, Beauty as my province, my next question referred to the tone of its highest manifestation – and all experience has shown that this tone is one of sadness. Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears. Melancholy is thus the most legitimate of all the poetical tones.”

– Edgar Allen Poe, “The Philosophy of Composition”