Karen Jones — Early in 2022 I wrote a long Twitter thread of advice on submitting flash fiction. At the time, I had just finished reading 700 flashes submitted to various competitions and journals, so had made notes as I went along, picking out common pitfalls.
I talk to my rescue Yorkshire Terrier in silly accents. French is my favourite: “Mon dieu! Zees eez a very big poo you’ve done, Fifi chien!” She doesn’t seem to mind – after a while she just goes to bed and sleeps.
Once I was small, held in another’s palm, running along life lines, diving into fate lines, skipping over heart lines, a horizon beyond eternity my only view.
It was nature walk day and we were excited even though it’s just the path next to the school and the chapel and even though it only goes through two fields and even though we’ve done it loads of times it was still better than singing hymns or doing ‘rithmatic or sewing...
Children laugh, shout, “Haw, Fur Coat! That you away to the opera, aye?”