I closed my eyes and breathed slower.
I tried my best to relax.
It was a new virus, advertised as nothing more than a simple flu. People died, and it spread, and more people died.. The government flaunted that it had it under control.
Then the unthinkable happened. The dead opened their eyes, and with a blood-curdling roar, stood back up as quick as lightning and began running around, leaving blood, devastation and even more death in their wake.
I have always wanted to visit this old, abandoned hospital for a photo shoot. There was something about the place that pulled me in. I have figured it must have been the interesting textures and lighting I could get from the place.
I guess I was wrong. Continue reading “Fiction: The Old Hospital”
John and Mary had been looking forward to this vacation for quite some time. Being in the busy world of business made them figure a schedule with much difficulty.
John rolled down the windows of the RV for a bit to smell the cool mountain air. His face was assaulted by a rush of wind that rustled his hair and made his breathing quite difficult. He quickly closed the window, and glanced at Mary who was seated beside him.
Mary put down her phone, her face still illuminated by the screen.
“What?” She asked.
“There’s a fog up ahead.”
I want to self-publish a compilation of probably either short stories or poetry I have written.
However, I know the difficulty of having sufficient materials to publish. To create completely new works for compilation and publishing would take a lot of time. Frankly, I don’t have a lot of time, nor do I have a lot of written works in my closet. I need to get the work done, and get it out as soon as possible, so I can get to work on the next project. The path of a professional writer is a harsh one, I have learned.
Most publishers favor previously unpublished work. And why wouldn’t they? People definitely would prefer reading something new over something familiar, wouldn’t they? I have seen some websites post higher rates for unpublished works, and a significantly lower rate for a republishing.
Which leads me to my question… How do compilations fare in the publishing world?
A compilation of a hundred new poems from a relatively unknown author, versus a compilation of a fifty (or more) previously published works from an unknown author in the publishing world… Which would fare better?
What I am trying to get at is that I am thinking of probably compiling most of the literary works I have done on this blog, publish it in a compilation, and probably sprinkle in a few new works. I really don’t know what this would amount to… But hey, I need to give it a shot.
However, I know this – it has to have something of interest to the buyers, or else the compilation will have no value. This is something I have yet to figure out.
In any case, NANOWRIMO is coming up, and I have yet to start penning my outline, but real-life work is getting at me, and real-life issues eating at me from my core. It can get hard to get in an inspirational mood to write. But write I must.
I hope you have a nice day!
This post is in response to a weekly flash fiction prompt challenge at the Carrot Ranch for August 8-13.
It requires writing with a specific kind of apple in mind.
This post is in response to a weekly flash fiction prompt challenge at the Carrot Ranch for August 1-6.
I was made aware of this challenge via a post in Borden’s Blog – Challenge Accepted: Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction – Rock Star.
Tom fished the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door.
He entered the room, and had this strange sensation in his head that something was off.
WHAM!
Something smashed his face and he was hugging the floor. Continue reading “Ambush”
Jeremy cursed as he tripped and almost fell on the pavement.
He looked back, and gave the offending tile a sharp glare. He then gritted his teeth and hurried away.
There’s no use having a staring contest against rocks and things.
The day was bright and sunny, yet the sun was not as blaring hot.
Jeremy fished his phone from his pockets and checked the time. It was half past eight. He’s terribly late.
Richard’s eyes snapped open, he found himself on his bed sweating and breathing hard.
“It was all a dream?”
He looked at his hands and saw words written on them…
“It was not a dream.”
Richard screamed and leapt backwards away from his hand. Continue reading “It Was All a Dream, Right?”
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