So long, farewell: Flash! Friday

Today, Friday 18 December, is a sad day, because the Flash! Friday website closes today. This morning I woke up and there was no Flash! Friday email in my inbox encouraging me to write a flash fiction by midnight, inspired by a photo, a novel or a dragon’s bidding.

Often I didn’t write a story, because I didn’t make time or didn’t have an idea. But on 38 occasions I did. Some of the stories I wrote were just plain weird. Some were better, and got rewritten and even published. I also learnt a great deal by reading the other stories, and seeing how other writers tackled the prompts.

Flash! Friday was recommended to me by Mark A King, FlashDog extraordinaire, as a good place to go to write flash and meet other writers. Without that recommendation I might not have found Flash! Friday. Those 38 stories wouldn’t have existed. I wouldn’t have got to know so many fabulous fellow-writers on Twitter and even in real life. And *whispers* the FlashDogs might never have existed.

That’s why today isn’t such a sad day after all. All of us flash fiction writers are still out there, still writing. There will be other great contests and opportunities. And our wonderful Dragoness, Rebekah Postupak, will get to do some of her own writing for a change! I’ve read and loved several of Rebekah’s stories, and can’t wait to see what she does when she isn’t running round after us lot.

Here’s to the future.

That’s what I was thinking about when I wrote the story below for the last regular Flash! Friday contest on December 4. We had a dragon’s bidding, which was to include a dragon, a required photo prompt (see the image at the top of this post), and stories had to be between 140-160 words. There were lots of wonderful stories and poems, and they are still at Flash! Friday; just check the menu and sidebar.


A bedtime story

‘There was once a dragon who lived in a wonderful realm. The entrance was just like any other door; an outsider would have walked on by. But the inside was much bigger than the outside, and a riot of azure and flame.

The dragon sat, as dragons do, on a hoard of treasure. There were bright golden coins…’

‘Real gold?’

‘No, they were chocolate ones, of the tastiest kind. And the villagers brought their own tributes to place at the dragon’s feet. Some were perfect gems; some were diamonds in the rough. But the dragon loved them all.’

‘That’s nice. What happened then?’

‘One day the dragon called the whole village, and told them she was going away. The villagers were sad; but they knew that the dragon trusted them to manage without her. The dragon flapped her harlequin wings once, twice, three times, and soared into the air.’

‘And then?’

‘And they all lived happily ever after.’


The featured image is Her Story Written in Disappearing Ink by Michael Shaheen, which is reproduced by permission of Creative Commons license 2.0. No changes were made.

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