Salty Air

I began a short story this morning, which was intended as a flash fiction (up to 500 or 1,000 words, depending who you ask) but it just kept getting longer and longer and weirder and weirder. I think I should have kept the ideas as a novel - there were so many characters jumping out of my head!

Stopped and had lunch with Mr Carter and then had another look but couldn't figure out if the story was working or not so went for a plod on the beach hoping that exercise and fresh air would help the brain cells and maybe the sea breeze would blow away the weirdness.

No such luck. It's still an odd story. And it's too long. The good thing about flash fiction, is people know they have time to read it. This will probably be a flop.

Oh I hate it when I come away from writing, without the 'YES!' factor...

Wine?

Don't mind if I do.

Oh - a quick photo explanation, from the foreground: Our dog's paw prints, sea foam, a lone black shoe in the shallows, some distant surfers waiting for a wave...