Worthing Flash

It’s Friday and time for my weekly WRITE-BYTES blog…concrete tips for developing writers. This week’s topic: HOW TO FINISH YOUR BOOK. Recommend you read this one even if you haven’t started writing your book!✍🏼 Go to my website www.lindasgunther.com OR just read the whole blog post below. (for your convenience). April 28, 2023 - #33 – HOW TO FINISH YOUR BOOK I’ve attended a few webinars on this topic and one that stuck with me was a presentation from Brooke Warner, author, publisher and writing coach. Her first point of emphasis was related to the writer’s mindset, and how you, the writer can often see your first draft (of a chapter or short story) as a piece of crap. Yet, when you pick it up five days later and read it again, you may actually be impressed with what you wrote. And then there’s the fact that some writing days are good and other days may turn out to be duds. If the latter happens, just let it go. But save it anyway and write something fresh. Another point Brooke ma...

Her heart fluttered; the heat between them was intense. Moving in sync, they grooved and got the best of the night. She moaned, and he begged for more, with his salacious arousal heightened. He didn’t want to go there with her. She was someone who deserved more and better than that. He took what she gave and responded appropriately, leaving the obscenities at bay where they belonged. After they copulated, he became bold and realized that she was still hanging around, something he was not accustomed to. With her, it didn’t seem to bother him, and he wondered why?                 Lily FInch is the pen name for an author, editor, and creative writing mentor. She lives South of Detroit in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. She is an emergent writer who works on short stories that depict real-life situations. She has one short story publication, “The Beauty is Watching.” The Literary Yard . Sep 20, 2022. And one flash fiction publication, “The Rus...

The Silence Whispers There’s ten or twelve of us waiting at the gate. We don’t look at each other; afraid to see our pain, reflected in other eyes. We don’t speak; afraid to hear the words we don’t want to hear expressed by another tongue. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick. They came. Their expressionless faces betrayed by the shock in their eyes. They spoke the words we didn’t want to hear. Words we’d heard whispered in the silence. They comforted us. Together in heartbreak. Alone in grief. They let us see them. Let us kiss, cold, colourless cheeks while the silence whispers, why?   by Dorcas Wilson 

  My m other, wrapped all men—my father included —around her finger. On and off stage, s he stole the show. She dazzled audiences with love - sick maidens singing tra-la-la tunes in the tower, knights ready to die for them and bloodthirsty pirates. Five years.  “ M e me , please, pleeeese Mommy?” “ Ah puppet, you’re clumsy. ” Ten years. “ Won’t you teach me? ” “ Ah puppet, this art isn’t for you. ” Fifteen years.   “ Your magic is so rot rubbish, Mother.”  “ Art not magic!” my mother shouted, over the deafening applause of the crowds . Every ending told a story; though my mother was the o ne pulling the strings .    

WRITE-BYTES BLOG …a resource for writers April 21, 2023 By Linda S. Gunther The topic this week: HAPPY OR PHILOSOPHICAL ENDING TO YOUR BOOK? To read this blog, go to my author website: www.lindasgunther.com Click on Write-Bytes at top of screen and enjoy this week’s blog byte. Each week is a new blog post and all previous blog posts appear on website. ————————————————- For your convenience this week’s ✍🏼 blog post appears just below. HAPPY OR PHILOSOPHICAL ENDING TO YOUR BOOK? What is the best approach for ending a memoir or novel? This is a universal question most authors struggle with, usually during the middle of the first draft and most definitely when about two-thirds through the story. For me, once I turn the corner to the final third, there’s a little bird sitting on my shoulder and tweeting in my ear: “Okay, brilliant author, so how ya gonna end this thing?” Go away, I think and roll my eyes. Let me just see where my characters take me. But that birdie doesn’t leave m...

His heart was racing; he was sweating in the heat. The serene look on his face belied the inner anguish he felt. He looked again at the clock, the tension almost palpable, the end was so near. Suddenly he raised his hand and pointed in shock, he tried to speak but his dry throat prevented the words. Surely that cannot be. Finally he screamed NO. The look of dismay came over his face. It was obviously off side. Surely the goal cannot stand, but NO, the final whistle, that means another four years, for a go at the World Cup.           Don McBeth    

by Susan Cornford You think, because you parade around the pool in a bikini, that you are displaying an equally uncovered conscience. ‘Nothing to hide’, you flaunt! But I know what you did last winter, one cold moon-lit night, when you pushed your own sister overboard so she drowned. It was because she had the money, you didn’t, and now, as her next-of-kin, you have it all. I was on a boat going the other way, so it’s taken time to get back and let you know that I saw it. We jump in from opposite sides; I grab your ankle and dive.      Susan Cornford is a retired public servant, living in Perth, Western Australia. She has pieces published or forthcoming in Across the Margin, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Antipodean Science Fiction, borrowed solace, Cafe Lit, Crow’s Feet Journal, Ethel Zine, Flash Frontier , Flora Fiction Website, Frost Zone Zine, Granfalloon Magazine, Meet Cute Press, Mono, Mystery Tribune, The Mythic Circle, Quail Bell Magazine, The Short Humo...