It is summer and the sprogs are home, making noise(🤪). Work pays no heed to the seasons so writing has become a patchy business. I’ve sworn myself off Twitter to devote any waking moments to the WIP which has been giving me side-eye for the utter neglect I’ve shown it over the last few months as I continue my torrid love affair with microfiction.
Publication wise, I have a piece up at @virtualzine called BUTTERFISH (scroll down to 2nd story). I saw the picture prompt three or four days before the deadline and wasn’t sure I could get a story in on time but I thought, ‘This is such an atmospheric prompt, what the heck!’ I’m so glad I did because not only did it get through but it’s quite different to the stuff I’ve had published thus far, i.e more contemporary and eerie-ish. I also have another ‘different’ piece due to published in the heat issue of Nightingale and Sparrow Magazine. It is a really cool mag with lyrical, poetic pieces that I love (have a browse here) so I am very chuffed. I think it will be the first time my writing is in actual ‘print’, not just online, so I’m doubly chuffed! I am working hard to build up variety in my writing and I have to so say, having previously hated prompts, I now find them absolutely invaluable to set my brain off on unexplored tangents.
While we are on the topic, I might as well share this little micro written on a lunch break in response to an @AdHocFiction prompt ‘Triangle’ which was inspired by a patient I once saw. Happy Summer and Happy Writing!! 🏖🍹🖋📖💕💕
Every day, India angles a pencil from the tip of her nose to where her brow used to taper. And another to the inner corner where stragglers should stick out. In between, she is as bald as a baby’s bottom. Here, she draws cathedral arches, high points in line with pupil and nose.
‘Alopecia Totalis,’ the dermatologist had said. ‘Too close to the eyes to inject.’
Her barren head slinks surreptitiously under a brunette wig but with her shaky fingers, microblading (no, not miniature self-harm), is a tricky business. Without it, the bare mounds show up her skull underneath. Klingon freak or girl with no pearl earrings, take your pick. She does it to stop their discomfort. Still, they gawk.
One morning, she microblades triangles in the golden ratio of beauty on to her face and strides out with no wig. If they’re going to stare, she’ll decide what at.