Flash Fiction by Diane Burton

I've heard of Flash Fiction, but had no idea what it is.

According to definitions, flash fiction is a fictional work of extreme brevity. So, very short, short stories. It could include poetry and narrative. I learned all that after signing up to write such a piece. One thousand words max. The prompt: a change of heart. Did I know what I’d gotten into? Nope. But I did it anyway.

In December, here on The Roses of Prose blog, we write holiday stories for your enjoyment. When I wrote my first one five years ago, I hadn’t written a short story since high school. I write long stories. Full-length novels, 100,000 words long (about 400 pages). I accepted The Roses' challenge in 2013 and every year since. I've had a blast.

The first story, “Christmas in Space,” turned into a novella, Mission to New Earth. The following year’s story is the reward for anyone signing up for my New Release Alert (newsletter). The next two years, the stories dovetailed nice—one beginning where the previous one ended. I turned those into a novel, Romance Rekindled. I just can’t leave an idea alone. 😊

So when Insecure Writers Support Group (an online group that posts on the first Wednesday of the month) joined up with Write…Edit…Publish (both are blog hops) I thought why not? Write a 1,000-word story that indicated a change of heart. I’d never written anything that short and what could I say about anticipating something then changing my mind (or the character’s mind)?

 

Hawaiian Island credit: Wikipedia

Have you ever wanted something so intensely, but when you got it you didn’t like it or it wasn't what you'd thought it would be? Or you looked so forward to a vacation that turned into a bust? Well, that I could identify with. When I was in my 20's and single, I taught with a girlfriend who visited Hawaii every summer. She’d even lived there for two years. We made plans to visit the islands. But when I got there, she said she’d done everything and wanted to spend more time with her boyfriend. I was, more or less, on my own. Lest you think she was totally uncaring, her friends offered to take me anywhere I wanted to go on Oahu. But I’m sure you know how hard it is to ask people to drive you places. (In hindsight, I should’ve rented a car.) So, I took a bus trip on Kaui, rented a car on Maui, and she met me on the Big Island (where she’d never been).

Now here’s the thing: I’d never gone on a vacation by myself before. I’d never even flown by myself. To say that touring the islands on my own was not how I thought that trip would go. But, you know, I learned a lot. I talked to strangers. I visited sites I wanted to see. And I learned I could do it. Was I scared being alone? You betcha. Am I glad I did it? You betcha. 

Remember Vonnie's post a couple of days ago, when she wrote about her adventures in Europe. I could identify with traveling alone.

I used that experience for my piece of flash fiction. Embellished it somewhat. LOL Wish I’d had that handsome “surfer dude” escort me around the islands. Yesterday was the day to post. You can find my flash fiction titled (oh so ingeniously) “Hawaii” on my blog.

Can you guess what I’m going to do next? Yep. Expand it into a long short story or even a novella. Why waste a perfectly good idea?

Diane Burton combines her love of mystery, adventure, science fiction, and romance into writing romantic fiction. She blogs here on the 16th and 30th of each month. She shares snippets from her stories every weekend on her blog.  Her latest release is NUMBERS NEVER LIE, a romantic suspense, available at Amazon, free on Kindle Unlimited.

Swim Lanes, Or How To Keep Order In Your Writing by Betsy Ashton

Nearly anyone who has worked as a consultant knows that projects are broken down into sections, with those sections broken down into smaller parts. In order to manage large projects, project managers draw up charts with sections listed along the left side and major tasks or milestones listed across the top. The same holds true for writing.


Normally, I begin on page one and write straight through until "The End." I don't care about the niceties of the story, just about getting the bones sketched out and words on paper. I am a self-confessed devotee of Ann Lamott's "shitty first draft." I only begin writing when I begin editing, moving parts around, worrying over every word, every sentence. That works for a linear novel, which
is what I usually write. I decided about a year ago to write a different form of novel. New for me, it's a novel in stories, or a series of linked stories that can stand alone if they want. That said, several different narrators tell their stories, often observing and commenting on the same actions, but from different points of view.

After I finished what I thought of as the really shitty first draft of eight stories, I put it aside for a week before going back for a reread. Oh, golly goodness, gee whiz. Three of the stories nearly knocked my socks off. The rest drew a big "meh." Holes all over the place, missing stories, overlapping material written nearly word for word in three stories. How did I go so far afield?

I didn't have an outline. I tried to write the way I always do, linearly. Doesn't work if your story isn't linear, but is more circular than anything. When the narrator of two stories commented on a letter, I put the letter verbatim in each story. So not needed. When I let one character comment on the situation but not read the letter until later, the conflict made sense.

I decided an outline wouldn't be enough. I needed SWIM LANES. Out came the old consultant's hat. Out came a flip chart. Out came Post-It notes and marking pens. And out came the manuscript in all its flawed glory. First, I needed to know what chapters I wanted. Then, I had to populate those chapters with characters. I had to be certain I didn't refer to a character introduced in a different story but not mentioned in the current one without some degree of introduction. I needed to know how old each character was, what year(s) the story covered, who else was in the story, and what the central conflict was.

Whew! The gaps became painfully obvious. One reader of a story asked why one character was so angry all the time. "What she always this bitchy?" Well, no, she wasn't, but circumstances overwhelmed her, turning her to vodka. To understand and empathize with her, I needed her backstory. Oh, my another chapter.

I had several pages of notes before I went to the flip chart. The first image here contains notes and suggestions, arrows and scratch-outs. Not easy to follow. The second image is a pencil chart of what I thought I needed.  At that time, I needed to know what year a chapter took place in and how old the central and ancillary characters were. Still not enough. The image of the flip chart is what I'm using now. I can take a quick glance, move a sticky note around, move a chapter around, all without messing up anything.

If all this works, the book, Out of the Desert, will be out toward the end of the year. I hope.
This is my story about how the novel in stories is progressing. I'm sticking to it. I'll keep you up to date as things progress. Until them, write away, write now.

***

Betsy Ashton is the author of the Mad Max Mystery series, Unintended Consequences, Uncharted Territory, and Unsafe Haven. She is also the author of the stand-alone psychological suspense novel, Eyes Without A Face. Her works appear in several anthologies, including 50 Shades of Cabernet. She resides at Smith Mountain Lake, VA.

CURL YOUR TOES CHOCOLATE DECADENT CAKE by Vonnie Davis

INGREDIENTS

FOR THE CAKE
1 cup milk
4 oz. unsweetened chocolate, finely chopped
2 cups flour
½ tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
1 cup dark brown sugar—packed into measuring cup
1 cup sugar
1 cup vegetable shortening 
3 large eggs
1 tsp. vanilla extract

FOR THE ICING
2 oz. unsweetened chocolate, finely chopped
2 cups sugar
½ cup milk
¼ cup light corn syrup
8 tbsp. unsalted butter
1 tsp. vanilla extract

INSTRUCTIONS

1. For the cake: Bring milk to a boil in a 1-qt. saucepan. Remove from heat, add chocolate, and cover; set aside for 5 minutes. Stir until smooth. Heat oven to 350°. Grease and flour three 9" cake pans; set aside. Whisk together flour and salt in large bowl; set aside. Dissolve baking soda in ⅓ cup hot water; set aside.

2. In a large bowl, use mixer to beat both sugars and shortening until fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each, until smooth. Add flour and chocolate mixtures alternately, beginning and ending with flour mixture, and beat until smooth. Beat in soda water and vanilla. Divide batter evenly among pans, and smooth tops. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the middle of the cakes comes out clean, about 30 minutes. Let cool for 10 minutes, then invert cakes onto a wire rack to cool completely.

3. For the icing: Heat chocolate, sugar, milk, corn syrup, and butter in a saucepan over medium-high heat; attach a candy thermometer to side of pan, and cook until mixture thickens and reaches 220° on thermometer.

 

4. Pour icing into a mixing bowl; beat on medium speed of mixer until slightly cooled. Add vanilla, increase speed to high, and beat until consistency of frosting. Working quickly, place 1 cake on a cake stand; spread about ½ cup icing on top. Cover with second cake; spread with ½ cup icing. Cover with last cake, and spread icing over top and sides of cakes. Let cool to set icing before cutting and serving.

Releasing today is my short story from Still Moments Publishing. "A TASTE OF CHOCOLATE" kicks off their Matchmaker Series. Freya, a magical woman, runs a coffee shop and matches her special men with woman she deems appropriate. In a conversation with my heroine, she offers her a slice of of Curl Your Toes Chocolate Decadent Cake and this piece of advice. “This is how a man should taste when you kiss him. His flavor should burst in your mouth and do sensual things to your system. You should moan in appreciation, and your toes should curl in your shoes. It should be a magical chocolate kiss. And one taste is never enough.” -- Freya, the Match Maker.

 

BLURB:

 

Hope Morningstar has the worst luck with men. One boyfriend wrote her a “Dear John” letter while serving overseas. Her latest romantic interest broke up with her in a text. When a traffic detour puts her in an unfamiliar neighborhood, she stops at Freya’s Coffee Shop where she gets more than directions. She gets another chance at finding love.

Declan Fleming, scarred by a cheating ex-wife, has given up searching for love. He’s taken the route of a few other men and engaged the services of Freya, the matchmaker. Still, he’s been waiting for a year and he’s just about given up hope. Then Freya sends him Hope.

When feelings of insecurity and trust issues come into play, can finding love stand a chance? Can the magical influence of this matchmaker create a happy ending? After all, finding that one special love often involves a bit of special magic, does it not?

 

EXCERPT:

 

What in God’s name was she doing? How crazy was it to sit in a mall, waiting for a strange man to approach? Hope chewed her bottom lip and tore more pieces from her paper napkin. Really, did she want another man in her life? Every male thus far had brought his own style of pain and rejection.

Her stomach cramped, and she couldn’t seem to take one deep, complete breath. She eyed the paper bag she kept in her purse. If she hyper-ventilated, she’d need it. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God, I am freaking insane.

Once he came, if he came, she’d give him ten minutes, and then she was out of here. She didn’t care how good looking he was. Wait, she’d decided to go for content of character, not looks. This change in priorities would take time. Old habits were hard to break. Her gaze swept the area. With any luck he wouldn’t show.

“Don’t turn around.” A deep voice behind her sent chills up her spine. “I’m Declan, the man Freya sent. I know you’re scared, but don’t be. There’s no need.”

Why couldn’t she look at him? Was he butt-ugly? Short and fat? What? Remember, I’m not going to concentrate on his looks. I’m making wiser choices this time. I’m looking at the man on the inside, not the hunk on the outside. She exhaled a long, slow breath. “Okay.”

“Close your eyes for just a second.”

Oh, this was just too weird. Even so, she closed them. Something satiny soft rubbed over her cheek and she jerked. Roses. She smelled roses. Velvety softness caressed her chin.

“Rose petals are very soft, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” They were also very sensual when rubbed over her face. “I’m opening my eyes now.” Enough playing games. Every person in the food court had to be watching them.

“As you wish.” He held a small bouquet in front of her. “Purple roses are for love at first sight. Purple irises are the flower of hope.”

There were two purple roses and two irises snuggled in a bed of baby’s breath and tied with a pink ribbon. What a charming gesture. Don’t weaken. Be strong. Don’t let him suck you in.

“And the baby’s breath?” She’d yet to look at him, but took his sentimental offering from his calloused hand. “What does that flower mean?”

“Sincerity.” He stepped to her side, and her gaze lifted. “Hello, Hope. I’m Declan Fleming.” 

BUY LINK:http://www.stillmomentspublishing.com/p/ebook-store.html