Things are beginning to come together nicely, and I’m getting more excited every day about it all. To help organize my own workflow, I have decided to make Five-Minute Fiction the umbrella for my short fiction writing.
Right now, the publication will stay on Medium. I will be publishing my flash fiction stories here, and my longer pieces will go to the website.
This excludes, of course, any pieces I select for submission to other venues.
Work contributed to Five-Minute Fiction will be published as normal, the only way the website impacts the publication is by providing an additional funnel…
This began as a crazy stream-of-consciousness update post that I deliberately did not edit, as I felt it might help you see the “real” me. Well, moreso than something thrice revised, anyway. It has now become a living document that is just me talking about the publication. Which you should totally invite all your friends on Medium to check out.
Ernest Hemingway said something to the effect of, “When it comes, jump on it and don’t stop, because when you do there’s no telling when it might start back up.”
That is a fairly accurate summation of my thought process…
The fan moved the still air around the bunker.
Since the crash of 2025, air had become a precious commodity. The irony that the poisoned air drove the turbine that cleaned the air.
The air outside wasn’t worth breathing. Since the world had destroyed itself, the atmosphere contained chemicals. Chemicals that even the most robust living organism couldn’t survive. The filtration machine cleaned the air and the fan circulated it throughout. The air smelt stale and it was always hot, but breathing it couldn’t kill you.
Harper was the only one left. She wasn’t even sure anymore how long she…
When she was good, she was very, very good. When she was bad, she was horrid.
Gudiya was the first baby of the family. She was the one who made husband and wife parents, and brothers and sisters-in-law, aunts and uncles.
She’d run to her parents with her eyes and chubby arms open wide when they got home from the lab. When she joined pre-school her parents expected some trouble, but Gudiya was the princess of smooth transitions.
Flash fiction might be one of the most misunderstood forms of prose in circulation. And while it might not get the attention that goes to short stories and novels, we still see it coming consistently from some of the greatest writers of all time.
and so many other noteworthy writers, whose names alone could fill a thousand-page book, have all used short-form fiction to hone their storytelling craft to a level of mastery.
This story is inspired by an article of Fatim Hemraj ‘s in which she talks about Robert Ben Rhoades - who raped and murdered over fifty women between 1975 and 1990. He’s 74 years old now and rotting, but still alive, in an Illinois prison.
He cut off one girl’s hair and then took the World’s Most Terrifying Photograph. Then, he tied her up with chains and then killed her. There was some mentioning of fishhooks, which Rhoades used to pierce sensitive parts which made Tracy Luk shudder.
The family was together for the first time in a long time.
It was like magic — nobody was arguing, nobody was fighting, and everybody seemed happy. The whole vibe was happy.
We had all come together for Reggie’s birthday party. He was only 3, so toys and cake were all he cared about. For the grown-ups, it was a chance to reconnect.
We had all grown apart over the years. Each of us had found our own way through life. Some of us had it made. More than a few of us struggled just to survive.
The party, despite…
Seth Hollister paused in the hallway, for just a moment. The apartment complex wasn’t anything special, but it was nice enough to be careful in these next few moments. One wrong person popping their head out at the wrong time could mean trouble.
He had just been here two hours earlier and saw the neighbor of his target leaving. He also knew the target’s other neighbor was away on vacation. Disneyworld or some such shit. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that scrawny fucker accidentally letting him see inside the safe.
This guy wasn’t big-time or anything. Seth had seen…
Hannah walked the sunlit deck in a circle, using a disposable lighter to ignite sticks of incense along the way. Some of the sticks were in holders that seemed designed to catch the falling ash, but most of them were simply staked into whatever flower pot was nearby.
While she was doing this part of her little daily ritual the smoke lingered and swirled in the spaces between the leaves. In no time, the deep aroma of sandalwood made the room feel even warmer than the sunshine already had.
She settles into the posture that has become as natural to…
Writing fiction is one of those things that pretty much everyone wants to do. They call writing a novel the ultimate bucket-list item, because it’s on everyone’s list.
Of course, those of us that decide to take up writing as a profession have a better chance of crossing it off the list, but not necessarily so. Plenty of people make a living as journalists, copywriters, speechwriters, translators, etc. that never write or publish a book — fiction or otherwise.
One of the biggest reasons that so few people follow through on a dream that everyone shares is simple. …