Now, I rarely dabble in microfiction.
(I have no idea if this is the right term, let me be.)
When I get into itty-bitty stories—particularly those under ten words—I can’t help but think it’s probably already been written. I am legit terrified of accidentally plagiarizing someone else’s writing.
The fear that nothing I write could possibly be original is what kept me from writing at all for a very long time. The limited length of microfiction magnifies that fear.
But, sometimes, I think up tiny stories. I tuck them into the back of my brain or scribble them onto a piece of paper, and immediately forget about them. I lose that little bit of inspiration, that little encapsulation of emotion.
I take ownership of these two stories.
Has someone else already written them? Possibly. Has someone already written them, but better? Again, possibly. That’s how the world works, but it doesn’t take away from what these stories mean to me.
Okay, rambling over, I promise.
Keep an eye out for the last official installment of Fearful Flash Fiction coming this weekend. I’m pretty pumped, and hope you guys will enjoy it.
See ya soon.