Every month, the Australian Writers Centre runs a flash fiction competition called Furious Fiction: 55 hours, 500 words, and a strict set of criteria.
And every month, I brainstorm an idea, smash out a story and upload it here for everyone to enjoy. You can find more of my flash fiction here.
The Criteria – January 2024:
- Must be the main character’s first day
- Must include something being stolen
- Must include the following words: trip, triangle, tsunami
The Story:
9:00 – I hovered before the door of my new home office, my husband’s cheery “Good luck, not that you need it!” still ringing in my ears. Beyond the threshold lurked an unassuming desk. A pen. A blank sheet of paper.
9:16 – So very, very blank.
9:29 – The teaspoon made a satisfying rattle at the bottom of the sink, and the nectar of the gods swirled just beneath the rim of my cup. Steam swirled up past my nostrils as I re-entered long, looming corridor, but with my tea clutched tight in my fist I knew I could face anything.
9:30 – Splat. Dammit. These were clean pants.
9:35 – New, comfy pants. Soft blue stripes, no tea stains. A good omen.
10:17 – Washing in the machine. Floor mopped. Tea cold. Sigh. Guess I have to boil the kettle again.
10:33 – Kept clear of stray tennis balls this time, and reached my desk.
10:34 – Do I need a coaster? No, don’t be silly.
10:37 – Set tea-cup down on a coaster. I couldn’t stain my new desk.
10:39 – The coarseness of the paper, the cool heft of my pen. The silence. I basked in the moment, my very first as a full time writer. No more untangling messy love triangles while waiting in line for a coffee. The kids were at school. I had a blissful six hours just for this. (Four and a half now. Well, four and a bit)
10:40 – Pen poised, now it was time for the words.
10:41 – Don’t panic. There was a flood, a veritable tsunami of creativity surging beneath the surface, ready to be unleashed.
10:42 – At least, there always used to be.
11:47 – Roses pruned and watered. Washing hung out. Dishwasher empty.
11:48 – Stomach rumbling. Page still blank.
1:19 – My notebooks are totally out of order. How could I possibly put pen to paper when the history of my thoughts were in literal chaos? And besides, I might find a forgotten, brilliant idea and…
1:22 – I’m a fraud. I’ve never had a single original thought in my entire life.
1:26 – If I cashed in my advance, could my publisher sue me for theft?
2:11 – Huh? Where am I? I sat bolt upright and my notebook fell from my face and flopped to the ground. The blank page glowed an angelic white in the warm sunlight.
2:46 – FUUUUUUU–
2:47 – Hmmm. The aggression, the despair. And on such a pleasant autumn afternoon. I fetched up my pen. What would I think if I were out in my garden and I heard that floating across on the breeze?
3:00 – Bip-bip bip-bip. Bip-bip bip-bi–. Uggh, that would be right. Just get rolling and I have to pick up the kids.
3:00 – I flipped the scrawl covered paper to one side, revealing a fresh page beneath. Ah well. There’s always tomorrow.